A Different Drummer

Here I Am: I Samuel 3: 1-10

2012-01-16T10:10:00.000-08:00

*This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Church on the second Sunday of Epiphany, January 15, 2012.

There you are in bed. The alarm clock is set. The red numbers glow in the dark room. All is quiet. Your pillow is fluffed just right. You curl up in your favorite position. But, in a few moments, you know this is going to be a night of tossing and turning. You can't sleep. A voice is stirring a pot full of questions in your head. The voice is relentless. Should I take that new job or not? It's a promotion. The salary and benefits are better. But, do I have what it takes? It will mean taking the kids out of school. Losing friends. Finding a new church. Starting all over. What's best for me, my wife, and my kids? Most importantly, what does God want me to do? A quick glance at the clock and it's 2:00 a.m. You long for some clear vision of what to do. You ache for a clear word.

Most of us would be envious of the clarity of the call of Samuel. We would like to hear the voice of God with the clarity of a phone call on Verizon. Can you hear me now? But, remember, Samuel's call was exceptional. The phone line from heaven was not ringing off the hook then, any more than it is in our day. As the text says: "For the word of the Lord was rare in those days." Not every Tom, Dick, and Harriet got a call from God.

Samuel's unusual call happened something like this. The near blind temple priest Eli was sleeping as snug as a bug on a rug. The temple lamp gave off a dull yellow glow causing shadows to dance like spirits in the room. The wind softly breathed through gaps in the curtains. Young Samuel had lain down near the Ark of the Covenant. The golden cherubim on the ark spread their protecting wings over him like a mother hen. From out of the silence came a whisper as soft as the desert wind. Samuel. One eyelid opened, looked around, and then closed. Samuel. "Here I am," Samuel mumbled, half-asleep. Then both eyes shot open and young Samuel sprang to his feet like a soldier caught sleeping on duty. He ran to the commanding officer, Eli and shook him. "Here I am. You called me?" said Samuel reporting for duty. "I didn't call you. Go back to bed," Eli groaned rolling over and pulling the covers up under his bearded chin. Samuel made his way back to his pallet and went quickly back to sleep. From within the hushed temple the voice came again. Samuel. "Here I am,” Samuel once again spoke back to the darkness. Once again he shook a grouchy Eli, who told him to go back to bed. And once again Samuel lay back down to a troubled sleep.

A third time Samuel heard the mysterious voice calling him. But this time Eli figured out that something unusual must be going on. It must have been the Lord calling him. So he told Samuel to go lay down, and if he heard the voice again he was to respond with words that sounded like a set formula: Speak, Lord, for your servant hears. So, the next time the Lord spoke Samuel heard the message as clear as a church bell.

We would like to hear such a clear and unambiguous voice. We debate with ourselves and struggle with decisions like what vocation should I pursue; should I take that new job offer; should I marry this person; should I go back to school. We systematically weigh the advantages and disadvantages on the scales of our mind. We flip through our busy calendar and logically examine our responsibilities. We have an inner dialogue about our gifts and abilities and try to imagine the risks and sacrifices required before making such decisions. We may even pray. But no answer seems to come from on high.

Most of us don't live in the temple of the Lord. We find it hard enough to just simply cast aside our nets and follow the call of Christ. We have competing loyalties. Job, school, marriage, family, social life, kids sports, enjoying retirement. So, when an invitation comes to teach a Sunday School class, serve as an elder, take a position in church, or the need arises for a new ministry, we look at our time schedule and our divided energies, question our abilities, get anxious, feel guilty, wonder whether it is simply the church that is calling us because it needs workers or is the voice of Christ calling us. And then, we pray that God will just tell us what to do. Speak, Lord, for your servant needs an answer, yesterday. We may toss and turn on our beds of indecision wishing that we would be given a sure word from the Lord. But, it seems like we are living in the days of Samuel, when the word of the Lord is rare.

Hearing and responding to God's call is never a simple affair. At first, Samuel thought it was Eli's voice that he heard calling him. I thought it was my own voice that was speaking to me when I was called to the ministry. The call came at a turning point in my life. Or maybe the call was a turning point in my life. Nevertheless, as a student preparing to graduate from junior college, I was planning on going to art school to be an illustrator, something I had dreamed about since I was Samuel's age. In those days I found myself constantly in "the temple of the Lord" enjoying my involvement with the youth group at my church; voraciously studying the Bible, teaching a youth class, playing drums in the youth choir band. But, when the thought came to me of the possibility of "entering the ministry," I immediately dismissed the thought as my own inner voice.

The only similarity that I have with Samuel's call is that it was repetitive. From the first time the thought of becoming a pastor entered my mind, there wasn't a day that passed that this thought did not spring to the surface of my mind like a beach ball pushed under the water. But this was not just---three times, “speak Lord,” and “I read you loud and clear.” I had this inner dialogue every day for over a month. It was a painful, daily struggle of discernment; talking with a number of pastors about what was going on, constant prayer, wrestling with these daily thoughts, doubting, questioning, self-examination, and in the end, still believing that it was only my own voice. Really, I wanted to become an artist. Deep down I think I knew that I was not the minister-type. And if I did become a minister, it was not going to be based upon personal interest. It had to be the voice of God calling me. By the end of this time I was practically worn out by what I thought was my own nagging inner voice. If I had gone to a therapist at the time I would probably have been diagnosed with Vocational Anxiety Syndrome or some such neurosis.

One night, while driving on the freeway to visit a relative with Iris, that beach ball thought of becoming a pastor surfaced again. I was tired of pushing it back under. So, I missed my turn off and kept driving, knowing I had to make up my mind whether this was my voice or the voice of God. I had never had such an experience before, and have not had one since. I began questioning why my own inner voice would put me through such a struggle and over such a long period of time. Now, I doubted whether it was really my voice. So, a few miles down the road, I finally had to admit to myself that this must be God calling me. When I made that resolution it was like a weight was lifted from off my shoulders and I knew at that instant that my future vocational direction would change and my life would never be the same. A strange additional note: I hadn't mentioned to Iris a thing about my wrestling with this calling. When I told her about it that night on the freeway, intuitively, mysteriously, somehow she already knew that I was struggling with a call to the ministry and had told her mother so that she would have verification when I finally told her about it! God moves in mysterious ways!

God's call is not always that dramatic, nor is it always clear and unambiguous. God's voice may sound like Eli's, or our own, or the wind blowing through the curtains of your mind. Have any of you ever had the thought enter your mind of entering pastoral ministry, teaching theology, or doing missionary work? Most of you would probably quickly consider the pay, the hours, the stress, the responsibility, and immediately respond to the thought, "No way!" Some Mondays I have had that same thought!

But if that thought has ever entered your mind, it is a thought that I would listen to and dialogue with in fear and trembling. I would not quickly dismiss it as my own voice and rollover and go back to sleep. Nor would I jump into such a calling without a great deal of discernment. It is not a commitment one takes lightly. As a matter of fact, I agree with the advice Alan Jones gave in a wonderful book he has written on the call of the ordained ministry. He said, "When someone comes to me for advice about ordination I suggest that he or she avoid it if at all possible! Ordination should be the last resort, the final response to a lover who will not let go." A vocation, a call to the ministry of the Word will in the end, if it is a call from God, be a compelling call, even if it is not always a clear and unambiguous call.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., whose birthday we celebrate today, had a call to ministry that came almost as a natural part of his life, though his call to be a leader of the Southern Freedom Movement came in quite a different way. King said:

My father was a preacher, my grandfather was a preacher and my great-grandfather was preacher. My only brother is a preacher and my father’s brother was preacher. I guess I didn’t have much choice but to be a preacher. I grew up in the church and it was good to me, but one day I realized it was inherited religion. I had never had an experience with God that you must have if you are to walk the lonely paths of this life.

Then as a young pastor I was called to serve a church in Montgomery Alabama, where a woman named Rosa Parks was a member. She decided she was tired of being tired and would no longer sit at the back of bus. I didn’t know what to do but I knew what Jesus wanted me to do. So we stopped riding that bus. For 381 days, we walked.

Then one night at around midnight, when the house was quiet; and King’s wife and baby girl were asleep, he got a telephone call. And it wasn’t a midnight call from God! On the other end was a vicious voice saying mean and hateful things; finally the voice said, “N…r” if you don’t get out of town we will blow your brains out and burn your house down.” Then the caller hung up. King goes on to say:

I couldn’t sleep. All I could think about was my precious baby and my wife. I went to the kitchen thinking a little coffee might help me, then I brought to mind all my recent philosophy and theology, but that didn’t help. I realized I couldn’t call upon my Daddy, 180 miles away in Atlanta. I realized I couldn’t rely on the experience of others with God. I had to call upon God myself. I said, ‘God I am trying to do what is right in your sight, but I am weak and tired.’ Around midnight I heard God say, ‘Martin stand up for justice. Stand up for righteousness. Stand up for Jesus. I will never leave you alone.’

King’s call to ministry came as a part of his family heritage, his involvement in church, his own experience of God beyond “inherited religion,” a congregational invitation, a social context of racism and segregation, a woman tired of discrimination, and his personal experience of God’s voice. King heard God’s voice in the night, like Samuel, but as you look at his whole life it seems as if his vocation chose him.

In the real sense of the word , you do not choose a vocation. A vocation, literally, “a calling,” chooses you. This not only applies to a call to vocational ministry like a pastor, but applies to other vocations, as well as to church leadership. God may call us; choose us, through the voice of our own giftedness. God has planted within each of us our own uniqueness, our own personality, and bank of experiences that lend themselves to certain outlets, expressions, vocations, ministries. Sometimes it takes the mysterious wind of God's breath to blow on those embers within us, to fan the flames of our gifts of service. Then it is a matter of discerning how and where our giftedness, or calling, is given concrete expression.

At other times the voice of God may sound as human as Eli's or the voice of someone from our church's Nominating Committee over the phone or the Educational chairperson after church or the pastor from the pulpit. From one who has struggled to discern God's call, I would not assume that you should immediately say "yes" to any and every invitation to serve, nor to believe that every voice that calls you to leadership or ministry is God's call to you. Neither would I respond upon the basis of guilt, arm twisting, nor because you think that nobody else will do it. I would advise that you look within, listen and pray and examine yourself and your gifts. I would advise that you look at your other obligations, your available time and energy and how it is being used, your other responsibilities to family, friends, job, and community, and your responsibility to nurture yourself.

But, the best advice that I could give to you concerning the discernment of God's call to leadership or service, in whatever form it may take, would be the advice that Eli gave to Samuel. When you want to know if it is God who is calling you, seek solitude or go within yourself for a while and talk to God. And simply say, "Speak, Lord, for your servant listens." I don't guarantee that you will hear a clear, audible voice, like Martin or Samuel saying, "Do this or that or go here or there." But, I honestly believe that God will speak to you somehow, someway. Exactly how or when, I cannot say. But, in the end, through the silence, the struggle of listening, and the ambiguities of discernment, you will know if it is God who is calling you. And once that becomes clear, the real question then becomes "How will you answer?"

Water Marks: Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

2012-01-09T15:24:00.000-08:00

*This sermon was preached on the Sunday after Epiphany, January 8, 2012 at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, Oregon.

The oldest known baptistery, constructed around the year 232 AD, was uncovered alongside the Euphrates River at Dura-Europos, once a Roman outpost located in modern Syria. It is located within the home of an early wealthy Christian and is the oldest known building used as a Christian meeting place. It probably accommodated 50-70 worshippers. The baptistery is an open pool surrounded by images. Around the baptistery are frescoes of Adam and Eve, David and Goliath, and the earliest images of Jesus as the Good Shepherd, healing of the paralytic, walking on the water with Peter, and three women at Christ’s tomb. We can see how visuals and art played a key role in the worship of the early church.

If you were one of those baptized in that ancient baptistery, as a catechumen you would have had to sit at the feet of an episcopos or overseer for three years of instruction and examination in preparation for becoming part of that house church. If your vocation was an actor, a government official, a gladiator, or a soldier you would have been immediately turned away from baptism. A clear and certain break from your pagan world was required. Many nights would have been spent before the golden glow of an oil lamp instructed in what it means to live as a Christian, as well as learning the basics like the Lord's Prayer and the Apostle's Creed. Your moral life would be thoroughly examined to see if you were truly breaking free from the surrounding pagan culture. At the weekly Sunday assemblies you would have been able to sit through the service of the Word, but excused when communion was about to be served.

When the day of your baptism approached, most often at sunrise on Easter Sunday, your stomach would probably be growling from fasting on Good Friday and Holy Saturday. Your skin might be wrinkled from various washings and bathings. The darkening sky of Easter eve would have found you once again before the glow of lamps attending an all-night vigil of scripture reading and instruction. The first rays of sun on Easter morning would have warmed you as you walked through the colonnaded courtyard of the Roman home and entered the room where the baptistery was located.

As the cock crows, there you are in the room set aside for baptism. Your eyes fall upon the sparkling baptismal waters with an image of Christ, the Good Shepherd watching over you from above and Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden reminding you of your own sins and brokenness. The episcopos intones a blessing over the clear, rippling water. The aroma of sweet smelling oils floats through the room. You are invited to disrobe, to shed the garments of your old life like a snake sheds its skin. Then, you renounce Satan and his evil works as the wet sign of the cross is drawn on your forehead with warm, fragrant oil.

The cool water splashes and gurgles as you step into the baptismal pool. The leader asks you three questions of faith based upon the Apostles Creed. You respond to each saying, "I believe." With each response you are dunked under the crystal waves. Assistants hold your arms and help you out of the pool. A fresh white robe is placed upon your wet body like a new skin. You are drenched from head to toe in the waters of baptism. The assistants lead you to a large hall where the table is set with flat bread and a pitcher of wine. The assembly welcomes you with the holy kiss. You are now part of this community of Christians, who are ready to break bread and share the cup with you. You have left behind the world you once knew as you stepped out of the baptismal room. You have a new identity. Christ is your Lord. This is your new family. These are your people. You belong to God and the church. You have been marked for life.

This initiatory rite of baptism goes back to the days of Jesus. Along the Jordan River John the Baptizer was drawing crowds of people. They came to hear his fiery preaching and to be dunked beneath the murky waters as a sign of repentance, a moral about face, before God bursts through the doors of time and like a farmer separates the chaff from the wheat. Some thought John to be the Messiah, the Coming Judge. John pointed his finger to the horizon and said, "I dunk you in water. The One who is coming will dunk you in the Holy Spirit and fire!"

Though the temple had its ritual washings for purification, John's baptism was a counter ritual to the temple. His baptism "for the remission of sins" was offered as an alternative rite to those of the temple system, which needed its own purification. As the common people turned from their old lives in preparation for the coming judgment, they were marked as people identified with John and his apocalyptic message of the coming judgment.

One of those who come to be baptized by John is Jesus. He steps waist deep into the brown water with the rest of the people. By all appearances he's just one more sinner come to repent and be scrubbed clean by the Spirit. The reeds along the shore bend in the breeze. Expanding circles spread out around him from the water drops. A crane soars over the surface of the river. John dunks Jesus beneath the watery skin of the river with a splash and gurgle. The dripping of water harmonizes with the mumbling of a prayer as Jesus lifts his wet arms to the heavens. The cobalt blue sky responds to Jesus as if opening to receive his prayer. The Spirit of holiness descends upon him as when Noah's dove finally found a resting place. A thunder clap in the sky speaks, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."

Jesus is a marked man. His baptism marks him as one identified with sinful humanity. He is one of us, wading right beside us through the murky waters of life. His baptism by John for the remission of sins and identification with sinners would prove to be an embarrassment to the early church. How could a sinless Savior be dunked in the sin-soaked waters with the rest of us? As his mission unfolds we will soon see that Jesus is not embarrassed to cavort with tax-collectors and traitors and to dine with the social outcast. Jesus will continue to be marked as a prophet of the people, a Savior of sinners, Lord of the lost.

Jesus' baptism marks him as one identified with God and God's people. Like a baby born from a watery womb and named by their parents, Jesus emerges from the baptismal waters and is named by his heavenly Parent. Jesus is declared to be God's own beloved Son. Like the kings of ancient Israel, who were anointed with oil to set them apart as exercising a special relationship between God and God's people, Jesus is anointed by the Holy Spirit to be God's representative to the people. But, this wet king will take up the towel of the Suffering Servant and rule with the basin and reign from a cross. The waters of Jesus' baptism mark his identity as one with God and God's people.

Water can leave indelible marks. Consider the rocky banks of a lake where the water has marked the rise and fall of the water level. The winter snow melts and drains off the mountains into the lake. The hot summer sun drinks up the water revealing the lines of years of the ebb and flow of the lake's changing face. Water changes whatever it contacts. I remember storing my artwork in the shower of a garage turned into a small house, where Iris and I lived while serving as youth director in my first church position. The shower had not been used for a long time and the water had been shut off. One day something happened and water backed up through the drain. Even though the water was clear, it left a permanent sign of its presence on all my artwork. Water leaves its mark.

There is another kind of water mark. You can see it on quality paper. That is, if you hold a sheet up to the light. There stamped, almost imperceptibly on the paper, is the identifying water mark of the company from which the paper was produced and the quality of the paper. The water mark identifies the paper and to whom it originally belongs. The scene of Jesus' baptism in Luke's gospel is as if the writer were holding up Jesus' life to light of God to reveal his water mark. There, almost imperceptible, hidden beneath his humanity is his identifying stamp. Holding him up to heaven's light, there is no mistaking to whom he belongs. This is God's Beloved, a servant of the people.

Our baptism is our water mark. It identifies who we are and to whom we belong. In our baptism we are named for who we truly are, God's beloved children, followers of Christ, sealed with the Spirit. Remember, when you knelt in front of the church with your head bowed. To get to that moment, you had to sit through those long, tedious catechism classes, which sometimes bored you to tears. You were a bit nervous as the day for your baptism approached. The new flowered dress or suit jacket was laid out on the bed that Sunday morning. When you got to church, you were trembling and rubbing your hands together. When the time in the service came, the pastor called you to the front. Some passage was read from the Bible and some words said that you can't remember any more. As you knelt down you heard, "I baptize you in the name..." The water streamed down your face. Everyone sitting in the pews was smiling. A firm shake of the hand. The pastor said, "We welcome brother or sister so-and-so to the congregation." Maybe the water was at a stream or in a baptismal pool, or poured over you while you knelt, like at Dura-Europos. But, wherever and however it happened, you were marked for life. You stepped into that stream of saints flowing through the ages that have claimed allegiance to Christ and were engrafted into the church.

In that simple, yet profound act of baptism, we all received our water mark. We publicly declared our identification with Christ and God's Spirit sealed us as one of God's own, stamped on our lives an indelible mark. The application of water in baptism inscribed upon us a mark, not immediately apparent, but which indicates to whom we belong. We are God's children, Christ's followers, born of the Spirit. When you hold us up to the light of God you can see our water mark. We have been marked as followers of Jesus Christ. Our baptism has stamped his life, teachings, death, and resurrection upon us. Christ is our Lord. Our allegiance is to Jesus, his way, his people. No longer is our primary identity one of belonging to the people that makes up our nation, our race, our political party, or even our blood family. We have been marked as members of a people from every nation, tribe, and race set apart by their baptism in the name of Jesus Christ. We have been marked for life.

Occasionally we need to be reminded that we bear an indelible water mark that shows who we truly are. When our job serves us up a cold cup of put downs; when the cacophony of voices on TV blare out at us telling us who we should be; when the flags of other allegiances begin to wave over our heads, it is good for us to take another look at our water mark and remember to whom we ultimately belong.

I once walked into entrance of a sanctuary of a Catholic church in Houston, Texas and was surprised to see a cross-shaped baptismal pool in the floor. Not only was it a delightful surprise to find it in a Catholic church, which most often practices infant baptism by sprinkling, but that this baptismal pool was located right in the entrance way of the sanctuary. Everyone who entered to worship would have to walk by the baptismal pool as they came into the building for worship. I thought it was a wonderful architectural reminder, to all those came through the church's door each week, of their baptism and the covenant they made with God and God's people.

We all need to be reminded that we have participated in a holy bath. We have been set apart as God's beloved, followers of Christ, sealed by the Spirit. We belong to God and God's people. The people sitting in the pews around you are not just friends and acquaintances. They are your family, your community, along with all those who claim allegiance to God in Christ. Remember, above all else, we are God's children. Baptized into Christ. Sealed with the Spirit. Marked for life.

The Word became flesh: John 1:1-14

2012-01-02T11:48:00.000-08:00

Prelude to a Poem

Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ Λόγος, καὶ ὁ Λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν Θεόν, καὶ Θεὸς ἦν ὁ Λόγος.

The prologue of the Gospel of John differs from the infancy narratives of the gospels of Matthew and Luke. It is in the form of a poetic narrative. It is written in the language of worship more than that of theology. In essence, it is a hymn of praise to the logos, the Word, who becomes incarnate in human life. John takes us back further than Jesus’ birth to a genesis time “in the beginning.”

Since John’s prologue to his gospel is in poetic form, I would like to echo John’s literary form and share an extended original poem entitled “The Word became flesh” that I have drawn from John’s poem along with visual images that reflect its words, thus the word again becomes flesh, or should I say, icon and image.

_____________________

The Word became flesh

Jesus Christ,
where do we begin?
In the beginning,
which wasn’t a beginning.
At a time
when there was no time.
Long before the morning stars sang together.
Before God’s body
warmed the cool air of stellar space.
Before the world was hung
on invisible string
and spun like a top on its axis.
Before the seas roared in angry voice,
and the trees laughed in the wind.
Before the mountains proudly lifted their heads,
and the deserts cried out in thirst.
Long before an Unseen Hand
scooped up a batch of clay
from a muddy stream
and molded a living sculpture
that caught the breath of angels.
Before pain was etched on the brow
of a solitary face,
or a tear dropped crystalline
from a single eye.
Before the first cry was heard to burst forth
from between a mother’s legs,
or a note was plucked
upon the string of an angel’s lyre.
When the world was but an egg
incubating in the mind of God.
In the beginning.
When all there was
was silence….
and the Word.

The Word.
In the beginning
without beginning.
Eternity spinning in upon itself
and out again.
The Word was as timeless
as God,
as a clock with no hands or face.
As endless as Life.
Without lips to loose labials
or tongue to grunt gutturals.
Without teeth to sing sibilants,
or mouth to speak it into being.
The Word was.
Logos,
Theos,
Reason,
Thought,
Intelligence,
Wisdom.
Ready to communicate
Being.
Ready to speak
the first stammering,
s…s…stuttering syllables.
The Word hung on Sacred lips,
puckered
for the moment it would speak itself
into words that form sentences of reality.
Then, the silence will be broken.
The Word speaks universes, galaxies,
a tiny rotating blue orb,
and finally….
a word of skin and speech
not unlike itself….
a babbling being.

Imagine
the Word as
Woman.
Sophia.
Divine Wisdom.
She waits to woo and win the world,
even before She walks
into the room of time.
One with God,
like two peas in a pod,
twins who wear the same clothes
and think the same thoughts.
Sophia.
Over,
under,
alongside,
around,
through,
behind,
between,
with,
within,
alike,
distinct from,
yet, fully God.
Sophia.
Very God of very God.
One with the Word.
And yet, other.
As other as the babe nestled in Mary’s womb
waiting on the edge of the world
to be born.
In a word,
to be heard.

Without throat, teeth, or tongue,
the Word spoke….
And silence shattered
into a billion stars,
like broken glass
from an opera singer’s high note.

A world was expelled
by a cough from the lungs of God,
spoken into being.
Tinier than a mustard seed
caught in God’s teeth,
it was flung into space
by one able to move mountains
with the blink of an eye,
fill seas with her tears,
create canyons with her footprints,
who says “Be!”
and it is.
After speaking a six-day sentence,
the tongue of the Word rested,
then tasted what She had made
with one luscious lick.
The Word said,
“It tastes mighty good!”
And the Word became
silent….

One day in time,
in eternity
spinning in upon itself
and out again,
Adam’s hand
snapped the string that held the world.
The wobbling world
fell from Eden’s perch
with a CRASHHHH!!
and cracked like a fragile vase
from a Potter’s wheel.
In pain and anguish
the Potter spewed forth colored words
over the broken, gray world.
The words landed
on the tongues of poets and prophets,
who cried out
in the desert
of punctured promises,
wilderness wanderings,
corrupted kings,
tainted temples.
God’s tongue
tasted the nation of her choosing.
It had gone sour.
The Word kept crying out
word upon word upon word.
Holiness,
righteousness,
justice.
The stammering, stuttering Word
stuck on the same sounds,
a broken record,
playing over and over and over
for a broken world
lying on the dying floor.

From deep within the bosom of God
the Word prepared to speak
a word unlike any word
that ever fell on human ear
or rolled off prophet’s tongue.
The Word rumbled around
in the belly of God
awaiting
a mouth to speak it,
a tongue to articulate it,
a body to dance it,
a womb to birth it.
Then, the Word found
an open door into the world,
the only way to enter
the blood and bone sanctuary.

The Word became flesh.
Not like the putting on of clothing
to walk into the cold of winter.
Nor like an ancient actor wearing a mask
that displays personae and hides identity.
The Word became flesh,
vulnerable and vexed,
weak and wearied,
finite and fragile,
flesh.

Just to speak the word
grates across the tongue.
Flesssshhhh.
Paraded and pink
on long legs looking for lonely lovers,
pleasure for pay.
Flesssshhhh.
Tan and taut
as leather stretched over a cage of bones
lying on the streets of Calcutta.
Flessshhh.
Bruised and battered
by angry hands
in a home bittersweet home
where Sophia cries.
Flessshhh.
Pale and pocked
By a four-letter disease
that numbers your days.
Flesssshhhh.
Wrinkled and wormed
lying in a satin-lined box
dust to dust.

The Word became flesssshhh.
Tormented and tempted,
tried and tested,
troubled
and tight enough
to be pierced
and hung out to dry
on two crossed sticks.

The Word
packed up its heavenly tent
and moved to a new home
sweet home
in the belly, of all things
…. a virgin.
From flesh came flesh.
In a barnyard of beasts.
Pushed out onto the hard earth
like raw meat
hanging in the window of a butcher shop.
The screaming wonder
wrapped in strips of cloth,
a mummy for the tomb.
The Word entered the world
of babbling beings
unable to speak…a word.
While angels bent over the earth
silent as a whisper.

Wrapped up tight
in the humanity of that child,
a future of unborn days,
when that fine hair will glisten
with water from the Jordan river,
when those tiny hands will scoop up mud
and heal hollow eyes,
when those lips will drip words of honey
on the tastebuds of hungry ears,
when those two round eyes,
as big as worlds,
will look upon the multitudes
hungry for more than bread,
thirsty for more than wine,
longing for true communion.
The day will come when those small ears
will hear the whispers of heaven
and clothe them in words.
The Word pitched a tent among us,
stretched out the cords of a sacred temple,
nailed them down,
and made our home his home,
our sod his sod,
our God his God.
Even death,
the end of speech,
could not silence him.
The Word still speaks.

The Word that was
and is
and is to come,
is with us.
When we toss and turn
in the sheets of pain,
sit in solitude,
hold the crumbs of our future
in our trembling hands,
or when life bursts through our door
with party horns blaring
and rainbow streamers flying
curly-cue in the air,
or when sitting
on the edge of the world
watching the dying sun
paint the sky with invisible brush
colors that pale the palette of Picasso.
The Word is with us,
when little ones make their singing debut
in the maternity ward,
or when a wrinkled hand drops limp
at the side of a rocking chair
in a rest home,
sweet rest, home.
The Word still speaks
in words wrapped in the swaddling clothes
of the human .

The Word became flesh.
With human face.
Have you seen the Word?
Cardboard-sign-carrier,
broken smile,
broken spirit,
begging near the freeway off ramp.
Shopping-cart-pusher,
looking for cans in the park,
a sleeping place in the dark.
The Word with a face
seen between empty spaces
of iron bars
or at empty places
like local bars.
To miss the face,
the other,
the Word,
among the least of these,
is to stop the ears
to the sound of sacred speech,
and to end up as guilty as a goat
on judgment day.

O, Wondrous Word,
Let us see your face.
As black as night
in a Savannah swamp,
as pale as the moon
on Chesapeake Bay,
as red as mud
on an Oklahoma road,
as brown as earth beneath
Mexican sandals.
O, wonderful Word,
Will we listen for your voice
only in soaring song and silent sanctuary,
in petitioning prayer and preacher’s proclamation,
in bound Bible and believer’s bosom?
Or will we tune our ears
to listen for the Word
in the lost and lonely places,
the forgotten and forsaken places,
the marginal and manger places
of this turning orb?

The Word still speaks
from as far away as forever
or as near as a neighbor.
The Word still speaks
louder than dividing walls that fall.
Quiet as a flower budding
on April’s first birthday.
The Word still speaks
in eternity
spinning in upon itself
and out again
and in the still, small voice
of this moment….
The Word
is with us.
And we behold the glory,
full of grace and truth.
Amen.

An Ambiguous Sign: Luke 2:1-20

2011-12-25T17:33:00.000-08:00

*This sermon was preached on Christmas Sunday morning at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, Oregon. It included these pictures projected on a screen throughout the sermon. I could hardly finish the sermon as I looked out and saw a number of wet eyes among the congregation!

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O Lord, Our Rock and Redeemer.

The scene of the nativity was a favorite among Renaissance artists. Looking at their paintings you can see how each artist tried to bring together both the human and the divine elements in the story of Christ's birth. In Hugo van der Goes' painting Adoration of the Shepherds you can see a creative interplay of the elements of heaven and earth. The artist's devotion to the natural world is seen in the spacious landscape surrounding his manger scene and the wealth of precise realistic detail. In his painting the shepherds kneel before the Christ child dressed in simple peasant robes as brown as moist dirt. These field hands gaze in breathless wonder and excitement at the newborn baby, who lies naked and almost blends into the earthen tones.

In contrast to the down-to-earth shepherds are the unearthly angels, who look on in ritual solemnity. Some kneel around the Christ child dressed as priests at high mass. A few angels fly above the manger scene in ecclesiastical robes like flies buzzing around a maternity ward window. For symbolic reasons van der Goes' angels were painted on a much smaller scale. They are dwarfed next to the shepherds, appearing to be out-of-place, foreigners in a strange land. In other paintings artists have made the heavenly dimension dominate the manger scene, with striking colors, ornate gilding, or golden halos that encircle the heads of the Madonna and child. Although van der Goes brushes in the heavenly elements, the painting's natural and human elements appear to stand out.

Isn't van der Goes' rendition of the nativity saying something symbolically that we all can affirm? Though the Sacred was there at the manger scene, it was the human elements of Christ's birth that would have stood out most clearly. Let me ask you this. If you were an artist present at that manger scene long ago and were commissioned to paint a family portrait, what do you think you would have seen; a mother and child with matching cymbals for hats? Angels in ecclesiastical robes? If you had showed up at that stall with a digital camcorder and filmed the whole thing, what do you think you would have seen when you watched the film played back over a bowl of popcorn in your living room; angels buzzing around as common as house flies? Or were the angels only seen with the eyes of faith?

As Christians, we believe firmly that heaven came down and touched the earth on that first Christmas. But what if the halos were erased from the picture and the angels were painted out, how then would we recognize that God had come among us? If no angels with wings come to us to announce the good news, then where will we hear it? What kind of signs will we look for that the Savior is among us?

Believe it or not, the good news of Christ's coming was first announced to shepherds by angels from heaven. The shepherds sat on the hillside washing their socks by night, I mean, watching their flocks by night. There was nothing particularly unusual about that evening. Nothing filled the air, except the smell of sheep. And those shepherds were not particularly subject to heavenly visions. They lived off the land. Rough-and-tumble fellows. Calloused hands. Scruffy beards. No nonsense. Real down-to-earth, hardworking kind of guys. Their business was watching sheep, not gazing off starry-eyed into the heavens.

Then all of a sudden an angel of the Lord stood before them. I can imagine their eyes bugging out an inch or two and their jaws hitting the ground with a thump. The glory of the Lord shone around them like a beam from a UFO. Those simple shepherds were scared right out of their wits. They did a double-take and rubbed their eyes awake. What would angels be doing out there among a bunch of sheep? In typical angelic language the angel said. "Do not be afraid." Sure! Don't be afraid. Ha! Like shepherds see angels every day. "See," said the messenger, "I am bringing you good news of great joy for all people." The ears of the poor shepherds perked up at the sound of good news.

"To you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord." And as if one angel were not enough to blow the brains right out of those simple shepherds, the night sky cracked open and was spangled with a flock of glittering angels praising God. Above the sound of flapping wings they sang, "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace among those whom God favors." Wow! Chiffon angels come to burlap shepherds. The doors of heaven open in a pasture.

But in our modern age we don’t look for good news to come to us wrapped up in such heavenly form. Unlike former ages, we 1ive in a time when the halos have been erased and the angels have been painted out of the picture. Myth, story, and symbol, have all been ruled out as vehicles of truth. The supernatural has been written off as fairy tale or childish imagination. Although many would say we live in a postmodern or post-enlightenment era, I believe we still live under the long, dark shadow of the age of Enlightenment. Ours is an age still dominated by science and rationalism. The Enlightenment taught us that for anything to be true it has to be quantifiable, fit into a formula, or put under a microscope and examined with the human eye. The philosopher Descartes, father of the Enlightenment, expressed the spirit of the modern age when he said: I must avoid believing things which are not entirely certain an indubitable.

The age of the Enlightenment says that there’s nothing, nothing that we cannot doubt? If that’s the case, then why not include rationalism as one of those things that we can doubt. That is what postmodernism has done; doubt rationalism. Does everything that is true have to fit into a logical formula? Does everything have to be literal or it is not true at all? If that were the case, then those of us who see with eyes of faith would have big problems.

Sociologist Peter Berger has examined the alleged demise of the supernatural in modern secularized society in a book fittingly entitled A Rumor of Angels. The opening sentence of the book reads: If commentators on the contemporary situation of religion agree about anything, it is that the supernatural has departed from the modern world." Berger's thesis is that we live in a time when the transcendent has been reduced to a rumor.

We have all been affected by our modern rationalistic age to a great degree. I know that I have. I'm a bit skeptical of claims of the miraculous and supernatural. Granted, this is the kind of world I read about in my Bible. But, when I lift my eyes up from the supernatural world I see in the Bible, I look out on a different kind of world. Speaking as a rational person, I have to say that we, as people of God, do not live in the same kind of world that the Bible portrays. God doesn't speak from burning bushes. The seas don’t part on command. The sun doesn’t stand still. Blinded eyes don’t see with mud for medicine. The dead do not rise up from their graves. And angels do not flit about giving birth announcements to virgins. That's not the kind of world into which I was born.

Today, there may be rumors of those who say they can hear God's voice. But, personally speaking, I seem to have trouble hearing God's voice a great deal of the time. I don't know about you, but when I pray I don't hear a sound. There are no audible voices. I often wait quietly, listening for God to speak, but there is nothing but the hum of silence. I have sat alone with my feet soaking in tears, frustrated, feeling hopeless and depressed, and no angel has shown up and placed a hand on my shoulder. When I asked God to show me the way, no angel has come to me like one did to Jimmy Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life. There has never been a cloud by day or a pillar of fire by night guiding my way. I have never actually heard a Charlton Heston voice booming out: "Leo, my beloved child, go to the elders of Zion and proclaim in their hearing, ‘Behold, I will shepherd your people." Have you ever heard such a voice?

At times I have deeply longed for an experience e of the "supernatural" to happen in my life. I have prayed the pray of Isaiah that opened our Advent readings: O that you would tear open the heavens and come down. But when I raised my head and opened my eyes, all I could see was an open Bible, a broken piece of bread, a wet-faced child, a disheveled young woman wanting some food, and a struggling church. I have squinted my eyes hard looking for signs that God was at work in my life. But most often I have seen very little that might be considered "supernatural," things that could not be explained away scientifically, rationally, or psychologically. So, I tend not to look for those spectacular signs of God's presence.

Even so, I still believe with all my heart that, on occasion, I have seen God's face. I have walked with Christ. I have heard the voice of angels. But most of what I have seen with my eyes and have heard with my ears has been all too human. Maybe I'm just a product of our overly rationalistic age.

It is from within such a rationalistic age that we hear of the voices of angels, who come announcing to simple shepherds that the Christ has come. But, rationally speaking, from the viewpoint of our age it would appear that all angels have flown the coop! And the heavenly signs have been unplugged.

If that were truly the case, then where would we look for signs of Christ's presence among us? Where would we listen for the good news? Where would we experience the Holy? I read in today's Christmas story about a sign that was given to the shepherds by the angels that was to confirm the good news they heard. And when I read what that sign actually was, I was moved to silence…. You might have thought that the stereophonic symphony of glittering angels in the sky would have been the sign that Christ had come among humanity. But that was not the sign. Shhhhh! Lean forward. Listen carefully to the angel's words:

This will be the sign for you… You will find… a child wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.

What kind of sign is that? That's the sign of good news? That's the sign that Savior of the world has come? That's how God comes to us? In a frail, vulnerable baby wrapped up tight in his humanity? I was expecting something a little more supernatural, something with a little more pizazz. At least a baby with a cymbal for a hat! If I hadn't heard the word of God's heavenly messenger, I wouldn't have recognized anything out of the ordinary at the manger. Would you have? I wouldn't have seen God in that child, being without a halo and all. How about you? What kind of sign is that? A baby in a cattle trough. Maybe we just need to walk a little closer and squint little harder.

Can you see the sign? Look closer. In the darkness of the night the glow of an oil lamp creates a circle of golden light. A sweaty mother lies on the floor looking up at the rafters. She squeezes all the blood out of her husband's hand. The contractions are coming every two minutes now. They are getting harder and harder to bear. The only sounds you can hear are rapid breathing and the howl of a wolf in the distance. She inhales deep the smell of hay and cattle. Then it becomes so quiet that you can hear the feet of a mouse running across the floor.

The moment of silence is broken by a low groan. Then, onto the floor plops something that at first looks like raw hamburger. It's a baby! The mother goes limp, exhausted. Then there's a loud "Waaaaaaaaa!" The beaming father cuts the cord and ties it with a piece of old thread. Then he wraps the baby tightly with strips of cloth and lays him beside his mother.

No golden halos. No fluttering angels. No opening skies. But, there's the sign. And it is all too human. The baby’s earthen hue almost makes him blends into the hay. There's nothing very heavenly about this scene. Maybe if you just kneel and look deeply into the moist eyes of the child, you will see something. Maybe not. But, there's the sign. There's the sign of salvation, the sign of good news, the sign that the Messiah has come. A baby wrapped up tight in his humanity.

If that's the sign the shepherds were given of Christ's presence among them, then where in the world do we look for signs of Christ's presence among us? If the halos are erased and the angels are painted out, where will we find the Sacred?

This is the Gospel truth. We will find that the Christ is among us, like the shepherds, through an ambiguous sign. The truth for us is that we will find the Sacred wrapped tightly in the swaddling clothes of the human. As a confirmation of the good news that the Savior was among them, that the Lord had come, that God was in their midst, the angels gave the shepherds a sign; a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in a manger. That was their sign; a rather ambiguous sign.
By "ambiguous" I mean that the sign could be open to several interpretations. The shepherds could have looked down at that human baby and said, "This is the Christ!" Or they could have looked down at that baby and said, "This is the Christ?" It's the same way with answered prayer. You can see it as merely a human coincidence or as the hand of God. The signs of God's presence among us always have that kind of ambiguity. They are capable of being interpreted several ways. That's because the Holy comes to us wrapped up in the human.

So, like the shepherds, we have to look for the Sacred wrapped tightly in the swaddling clothes of the human. Not wrapped like a Christmas package that you tear open to find the gift inside. As if we could tear away the humanity of that child in the manger, peel back his earthiness and find the real essence of Christ inside. No. God is there, all wrapped up tight in the human life of that child. The Sacred is wrapped up in the utterly human lives that we all live. And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us and we beheld his glory.

Trying to find Christ without the humanity of Jesus, or trying to find the Sacred without the human is like trying to find an onion by peeling away the layers of its skin. If you try to peel away the skin in order to find the onion, all you will have when you’re done will be a handful of onion skins. For the onion is in the skin. The Christ is in the baby. The Sacred is in the human. So, remember. The signs of the Sacred are always a bit ambiguous.

And though we may be Christians with a biblical memory and eyes filled with visions of heavenly things, we are still children of a modern, rational age. And at times we may want to peel away at the skin of the human and behold the Holy. We may wish we could pull back the curtain, tear open the heavens, and see God's glory directly. But if we expect to find God somewhere else except in the humanity of Jesus or expect to find the Sacred outside of our ordinary, frail, vulnerable human lives, then we may wind up with only a handful of onion peelings with tears in our eyes.

But, when we look upon life with the eyes and ears of faith we can see and hear the signs of God's presence among us. With eyes of faith we can see in the sign of a child in the manger the Savior, who is Christ the Lord. With ears of faith we can hear in the all-too-human word of Scripture the voice of God. With eyes of faith we can see the Sacred in the skin of all that is human. Angels come to us, unaware, in the guise of friends who tell us good news or as strangers at our doorstep. And believe it or not, if we squint hard enough, we can see Christ in the onion skin of this church.

Such ambiguous signs. They only become signs of God's presence when we look at them with the eyes of faith. Hidden in the very human stuff of our lives are signs that point us to the glory of God.

There you are on this Christmas morning. All wrapped up tight in your humanity. Hoping to find some sign of God's presence as you come to worship this special day. And all that you can see is an open Bible. Some burning candles. Garland and ribbon. Wooden words on a near wall, not magi from afar, proclaiming “Jesus is Lord.” All-too-familiar faces in church. All you can hear are human voices singing some old Christmas carols and a very human sermon. There are no halos. No angels. No heavenly voices. Just a bunch of ambiguous signs. And you came looking for the living and glorious Christ.

With eyes of faith look again at all the signs. They may look ambiguous. But, they point to Christ. All the signs point to Christ who has been with you all along. In worship. On the job. At play. In your home. Sitting alone in prayer. In joy and in sorrow. In sickness and in health. In life and in death. Christ has been there. Can you see that even now, right here, Christ is with us?

Can you see him? Can you hear him? Come closer. Lean forward. Kneel quietly before the tiny bundle that lies in the hay. Shhhhh. Can you hear him breathing? His warm breath fogs the morning air. His cocoa colored hands are so small and weak. His body is so vulnerable to that cold, cruel world out there. Gaze with wonder upon that bundle of life. What do you see? A baby lying in a manger all wrapped up tight in his humanity. No. More than that. This is the Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And it could have been just a stirring in someone’s heart, but didn't you hear some angels singing, "Glory be to God in the highest!?"

There is more light and truth yet to break forth from God's Holy Word.

Mary's Song of the Poor: Luke 1:46b-55

2011-12-18T18:34:00.000-08:00

*This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, Oregon, on the Fourth Sunday in Advent, December 18, 2011

Howard Thurman, African-American prophet and mystic, in his book Meditations of the Heart writes:

I will sing a new song. As difficult as it is, I must learn the new song that is capable of meeting the new need. I must fashion new words born of all the new growth of my life, my mind and my spirit. I must prepare for new melodies that have never been mine before, that all that is within me may lift my voice unto God. How I love the old familiarity of the wearied melody-- how I shrink from the harsh discords of the new untried harmonies. Teach me, my Father, that I might learn with the abandonment and enthusiasm of Jesus, the fresh new accent, the untried melody, to meet the need of the untried morrow.

Some songs are old. Some songs are new. Some songs are easy to sing. Some songs are difficult to sing. Some melodies are familiar and others untried. In the gospel of Luke Mary sings a song that is both old and new. Its melody may be simple and smooth, but its words are dissonant and discordant with the tenor of our times. Her song is a familiar melody, but with a “fresh new accent.” We know Mary’s song as the Magnificat. That’s not the title of an old Disney movie. The title comes from the Latin form of the word “to magnify.” It is Mary’s song of praise to God from among the poor.

The song comes in the gospel of Luke during an encounter of Mary with her cousin Elizabeth. Mary and Elizabeth, who both receive the gift of the Holy Spirit, the favor of God, and a child of promise, represent for us the potential for a new fertile future of unexpected hope and promise. An angel has previously announced to Mary that she would conceive a child through the power of the Holy Spirit. The angel informs Mary that Elizabeth is also pregnant in her old age, an echo of the story of Sarah and Abraham. Mary hurries off on a journey to a village in the Judean hill country that probably took two or three days. She probably went to assist Elizabeth with her work of fetching water from the well, grinding corn, collecting firewood, and cooking her meals.

Upon meeting Mary the child in Elizabeth’s womb leaps for joy. Elizabeth has two visitors: Mary and the Holy Spirit. Elizabeth is filled with the Holy Spirit and says a line that anyone who has said the rosary will remember: “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” Then, Mary breaks out in the song that we know as the Magnificat.

I refer to it as a song not because it was sung, but that it fits the poetic form of the Psalms, which were liturgical songs of the Hebrew people. It contains parallelisms, which are two lines that interconnect with one another. This is the most common form of Hebrew poetry. Mary’s song is very similar to the song of Hannah, the mother of the prophet Samuel, found in the book of Judges. Parallels to Mary’s song can be found in various Old Testament passages, the Psalms, intertestamental writings, and texts from the Dead Sea Scrolls at Qumran. The song presents themes from the OT and themes that will reappear on Luke’s gospel. Her song resembles the contemporary songs of the Misa Campesina or Poor People’s Mass, which I once heard in the 80’s at a gathering in San Francisco for peace and justice in Central America.

Mary’s song begins in joyful praise to God. She recognizes her lowly or humble status and how she is blessed to be so favored. For Mary is to be the bearer of the Messiah. Like a Woody Guthrie song that recalls the history of America and imagines a social transformation, Mary’s song extolls the God of Israel’s history and imagines a social revolution.

The mother of Jesus sings the song of a God who has scattered the proud and self-sufficient, toppled elite rulers from their thrones, lifted up the poor and lowly, filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away with empty hands and stomachs. These are definitely awesome deeds we do not expect.

New Testament scholar Raymond Brown sees the life setting of this song among the Jewish Christian anawim or “poor ones” of the first century. Mary’s song is a song of praise to God, the Liberator, who turns the world upside down. Though dirt poor, Mary sings a song of praise. If we recognize our own social and economic location, the God Mary praises acts against our own national and personal interests. It’s not a solo, but a song of solidarity with her people, the poor. Her song is a melody of social upheaval, a reversal of the fortunes and misfortunes of God’s people. She sings of social transformation.

We were probably expecting more of a gentle lullaby from Mary than a raspy song of economic justice. Her unexpected words remind me of the unexpected acts of Nora Nash, a sister of St. Francis in Philadelphia. Along with other nuns from her order, sister Nash sits in on the board meetings of Goldman Sachs, the world’s most powerful investment bank. They have bought the minimum number of shares in stock to be able to submit resolutions at the annual shareholders meeting. Sister Nash advices three Goldman top executives that their Wall Street Bank should protect consumers, rein in executive pay, increase its transparency, and remember the poor. These sisters were occupying Wall Street before it was fashionable for young hipsters. These sisters of mother Mary have also confronted Kroger, the grocery store chain, McDonald’s, Wells Fargo, and the Fortune 500 for unjust practices. What bodacious audacity! They sing a song with a radical vision.

Mary’s song is far more radical a vision than even that of the Occupy Wall Street movement, which focuses on the power and privilege of the 1% of the wealthy over against the 99 % of the rest of the US population. In the Occupy movement the enemy is the wealthy 1 %. Mary’s song envisions God completely overturning our economic system, flipping it on its head. If we understand Mary’s vision on a global and not simply a national level, the lyrics of her song indict not simply the 1% over against the 99 per cent in the US, but the 20% of the wealthy of the world over against the 80% of the world’s impoverished peoples. As Walt Kelly’s politically satirical comic strip character Pogo once said, “We have met the enemy and he is us!” Gentle Mary sings a radically subversive song of God’s coming revolution and we are implicated in the lyrics.

E. Stanley Jones, the early twentieth century missionary once said that the Magnificat is "the most revolutionary document in the world." It is a song that terrified Russian czars. The people of Nicaragua were once fond of reciting it. During the oppressive rule of Somoza in Nicaragua the poor campesinos were required to carry proof that they voted for him. The people sarcastically called the document, “The Magnificat.” Mary’s song is revolutionary.

Dare we, who live in the wealthiest and most powerful empire on earth, sing the song of Mary? Wouldn’t its melody sound like the sawing of the limb on which we sit? Wouldn’t its lyrics stick in our throats like a fish bone? For us singing Mary’s song is less like singing a familiar Christmas carol and more like singing an unfamiliar, dissonant song. How can we, who are the wealthy of the world, sing Mary’s song without undermining our own lifestyles, our own political, economic, national interests and ideologies? We are not simply exiles in Babylon. We are Babylon. As the Psalmist moaned in Babylonian captivity, “How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?” How can we sing Mary’s song in our own land?

We have sung the songs of pride and power, comfort and wealth far too long. We have sung the old familiar songs of Babylon about American exceptionalism, Battle hymns of the Republic, funeral dirges over flag draped coffins, Christmas consumerist carols, and TV commercial jingles. How do we sing Mary’s song of the poor?

We probably need a new voice, a new melody, a new perspective. Singing Mary’s song of the poor and lowly will call for a practice of reading the music identifying with the perspective of those indicted by her lyrics, those who benefit from the violence, militarism, oil hounding and hoarding, those who are comfortable with economic inequity, cheaper goods, and low pay that go with the interests of our wealthy empire, interests we most often support. It is my conviction that we white, wealthy North Americans need to read not just Mary’s song, but all of the Bible with the intentional awareness of our perspective as the dominant and privileged. Our tendency has been to too easily identify ourselves with the poor, the weak, the vulnerable, the powerless, the persecuted, the crucified. I’m convinced that the poor, vulnerable, marginalized, and oppressed have an interpretive advantage when it comes to reading the Bible rightly. They share a common identity with Mary and her people.

This tendency to easily identify with the lowly and persecuted can also be found among white, North American Mennonites, who claim a heritage of social marginalization, simple living, and martyrdom. We proudly take this identity stance when relating to other Christians or in disassociating ourselves from the power and privilege inherent in the American empire. We are the marginalized, the exilic people, the persecuted, the martyrs. But, the reality is we have pretty much assimilated ourselves into the wider culture of the American empire. We are the rich, the proud, the powerful, and the privileged, those who Mary sings God will send away empty.

So, what I’m suggesting is to begin listening to Mary’s song and reading the Bible with an intentional awareness of our hermeneutic or interpretive lens of power and privilege. By that I mean that we intentionally practice a biblical reading strategy with eyes wide open to our own place of power and privilege in the world and how that affects our reading and the practice of our faith. Then, we will begin to notice how we spiritualize words like “poor” and “rich,” how we make texts about economic justice into issues of the heart alone, how we avoid the tough texts of the Bible that challenge our lifestyles, how we squeeze the Bible message into our own national ideologies. Reading the music of the Bible with an interpretive lens that recognizes our own position in the world can teach us how to sing a new song.

This new interpretive approach will mean reading Mary’s song and identifying with those who are on the top rather than the bottom, the haves rather than the have-nots, the powerful and not the weak, the dominant and not the dominated. It will mean reading the Exodus story from the perspective of Pharoah and Egypt, reading the taking of the land of Canaan remembering our ancestors who took Native land, reading the story of exile from the perspective of Babylon, the story of Jesus, and the church’s story through the eyes of the Roman Empire. It will mean reading with new eyes, singing Mary’s song in a new key.

Can we, as Howard Thurman suggests, “sing a new song, as difficult as it is…”Reading the Bible with a keen awareness of our own power and privilege could mean singing Mary’s song as a new song with an unfamiliar melody and “untried harmonies.” At first, the notes may warble and catch in our throat. But, reading from a new perspective, from the position of power and privilege, and singing in a new key, can emerge from growth and change in our minds, hearts, and spirits. In the wise words of Thurman, we “must fashion new words (and new perspectives) born of all the new growth of my life, my mind and my spirit.”

If we can sing Mary’s song in a new key, with a new accent, from a new perspective, and be able to remain in the tension and discord, if we can sing a new song in our brokenness as a powerful and privileged people, if we can allow its melody and lyrics to permeate to the bone, we may begin to change not only or identification, who we identify with in the song, but also our identity, who we are as persons and as a people in the economy of God.

I invite all of us to listen to and sing Mary’s song of the poor as a new song, as difficult as it is. We must sing Mary’s song of praise and prophetic imagination if we are to envision a different future, a new tomorrow for our dissonant and off key world. The prophet and mystic Howard Thurman can be our director:

I must prepare for new melodies that have never been mine before, that all that is within me may lift my voice unto God… Teach me, my Father, that I might learn with the abandonment and enthusiasm of Jesus, the fresh new accent, the untried melody, to meet the need of the untried morrow.

There is more light and truth yet to break forth from God’s Holy Word

The Spirit is Upon Me: Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; Luke 4:14-30

2011-12-11T16:31:00.000-08:00

*This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, OR on the Third Sunday of Advent, December 11, 2011.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me. When I hear those words from Isaiah my immediate thoughts turn to my early charismatic experiences. When I was a 19 year old, long haired Rock musician living in Los Angeles I went to a number of events that made me think that the Spirit of the Lord might be upon me. I had an older friend, Richard Gant, from LA City College who had studied for the priesthood. He was fired up about the Catholic charismatic movement that was burning back in the 60s. Richard dragged me off all across the LA area to various monasteries, cloisters, Jesus Freak gatherings, Teen Challenge, where I met the Christian gospel singer Andre Crouch, a Kathryn Kuhlman healing service, where I was called on stage, received the laying on of hands from Miss Kuhlman, and was “slain in the Spirit,” and attended a bunch of other charismatic and Pentecostal services.

At one charismatic meeting we were coached on how to speak in tongues and pray in the Spirit. As we kneeled in prayer the Pentecostal leaders suggested we stutter out some syllables in order to “prime the pump,” as it were. I told Richard I could easily fake speaking in tongues and upon doing so had an ecstatic experience. I also remember at that time listening to a tape on the story of Pentecost Richard had lent me and all of a sudden I hearing a loud wind rush through the apartment where our Rock group lived, like it was my own personal Pentecost. Richard baptized me into the wild world of the Spirit.

Was the Spirit upon me? Had I been anointed? What was the evidence? Speaking in tongues. Receiving laying on of hands. Being slain in the Spirit. Ecstatic and auditory experiences. Are these the signs of being anointed by the Spirit?

The prophet Isaiah proclaims The Spirit of the Lord is upon me and The Lord has anointed me. The prophet’s words fit in with what is known as the Servant of the Lord tradition. These texts in Isaiah speak of a Servant of the Lord, who at times appears to be Israel and at other times a prophetic or messianic figure. This Servant is, at times, a Suffering Servant who bears the people’s sin, brings salvation, and finally inaugurates the kingdom of God.

Isaiah speaks these Spirit-inspired words to Israel following the exile in Babylon. He offers the people a bold word of hope. In a surprising and even daring manner, the prophet takes on the role of the Servant of the Lord by saying, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me” and “The Lord has anointed me.” Anointing with oil as a mark of the Spirit’s appointment and empowerment for a role and was usually reserved for judges, kings, and priests. The prophet Isaiah brazenly proclaims God’s anointing for a role fit for a messianic figure.

The role the prophet envisions fulfilling sounds a lot like the messianic kingdom has come. The Spirit’s anointing is not about speaking in tongues, ecstatic experiences or supernatural phenomena. The descriptions of the Servant’s work, the signs of the kingdom look more like some kind of social transformation ----bringing good news to the oppressed, binding up the brokenhearted, proclaiming liberty to the captives, release to those in debtors’ prison, to proclaim the year of Jubilee, a time of social justice, and comfort for those who mourn.

These are images that reflect God’s coming reign that the messiah inaugurates. The prophet dares to envision his own anointing and empowerment by the Spirit as doing the work of God’s kingdom. In other words, in some sense, the prophet dares to see himself as having been anointed by the Spirit to engage in the messiah’s work, which focuses on the most vulnerable in society, the marginalized, poor, and oppressed. The prophet boldly dares to fulfill this role.

Jesus also dares to place himself in the role of the Servant of the Lord and the Messiah. When Jesus came to Nazareth, his hometown, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath, a customary practice, like going to church on Sunday. Homeboy Jesus is asked to read from the prophets, possibly in a cycle of readings. He is handed the scroll of the prophet Isaiah. Remember this was before our modern Bible. Books of the Torah and Prophets were handwritten on separate scrolls.

Jesus just happens to read the chosen text for that particular day from the prophet Isaiah. He reads, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me…” and so on and so forth. Notice how Jesus leaves out the part about “the day of God’s vengeance,” which I think is telling. Jesus hands the scroll back to the attendant and sits down, which is an indication that it’s time for the interpretation. Then he says, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

I’m not sure if everyone caught the meaning of Jesus’ interpretation of this text, because they were “amazed at his gracious words!” Now, I’ll have to admit that it’s nice to hear, “Great sermon preacher,” but sometimes if everyone likes your sermon it could mean that they really didn’t understand what in the world you were saying! Jesus continues his little sermon and clearly challenges his own people’s ethnocentricity, their puffed up pride in being God’s chosen people, which reflects a narrow vision of the messianic age and God’s reign.

And Jesus makes his case from their own scripture. He points to God’s compassion for a foreign widow and God’s healing of an enemy. In doing so, Jesus implies that instead of a messianic age when God’s vengeance will be poured out on their enemies, God’s liberating kingdom will look different. God’s reign is already evident in that all along God has loved, healed, and cared for the foreigner, stranger, and enemy as much as God has loved, healed, and cared for God’s own chosen people.

Now, they clearly understand the theme of his sermon! I can almost hear the people saying, “Shiver me timbers, dem is fightin’ woids!” Jesus’ homeboys are ready to take him on a long walk off a short cliff! At times good sermons can get you in trouble!

Jesus boldly dares to proclaim that “the Spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me…” to do the messianic work of God’s reign. In the very person of Jesus the Isaiah prophecy has been fulfilled, not so much as a prediction of Isaiah, but in the manner of Isaiah. Like Isaiah, Jesus dares to take on the role of the messiah, who does the work associated with God’s kingdom; proclaiming, healing, liberating, comforting the least of these. In his ministry Jesus will liberate the oppressed, give sight to the blind, including religious people who just can’t seem to see, and live as if the time of God’s justice has already come. For this he had been anointed by the Spirit.

That is why we speak of Jesus as “the Christ.” Christ is not a cuss word or Jesus’ last name. It means “the anointed one.” Jesus was baptized, anointed by the Spirit for his messianic mission. He fulfilled the role of the Spirit-anointed Servant of God, the messiah. That is why he fulfills the words of Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me…”

There is a real sense in which we as Christians, as the messianic community, take on the role of the Servant of the Lord who does God’s kingdom work. To be a “Christ-ian,” an anointed one, is to have received the Spirit’s appointment and anointment for the work of God’s kingdom. Isn’t that what our baptism was all about? It wasn’t just so we could take a bath and get our names on the church membership role. In our baptism we dared to take on the role of a servant of the Lord. In our baptism we risked being appointed and anointed to do the work of the Messiah, to do the work of God’s kingdom. That’s the boldness of baptism. That’s the boldness we all need to say for ourselves, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because God has anointed me…”

That boldness, that daring to proclaim our own Spirit anointment and appointment will be for us to proclaim good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, liberation for the oppressed, and the time of God’s joyful justice.

What does that look like for us… today… in this place? What are the signs that we are anointed by the Spirit? For us it probably will not look like speaking in tongues or wild visions or ecstatic experiences. But, it will probably look deeper than charity for the poor from our own opulence and abundance, wider than offering our money to the poor detached from our presence. It will mean boldly taking the risk of building relationships with the vulnerable and marginalized in society. It will look like direct involvement in our communities, outside our own church structures. It will feel as uncomfortable as rubbing shoulders with those left out and dropped out, forgotten and forsaken, lost and lonely. It may smell of poverty and sickness.

Signs of the Spirit’s anointing at work will probably look less like a quick e-mail sent off to someone who is ill, depressed or lonely and more like a visit, a cup of soup, or anointing with oil for healing. It may sound like the giggle of a child you are watching play in your living room because her young mother is out looking for work. Or it could sound like the cheers of friends as they welcome an Occupy protestor released from jail.

And, praise be to God, it may just feel like our own already busy lives have been disrupted, disoriented and even turned upside down by our anointing as servants of God coming kingdom. It may feel like my life is not my own…but the Lord’s. And it could also feel like tears of joy streaming down our cheeks as lives are changed, as hope is renewed, as comfort blankets the mournful. It can feel like the oil of gladness poured upon us as a gift from doing what God has called us, empowered us, anointed us to do.

To boldly proclaim for ourselves that “The Spirit of the Lord is upon us and has anointed us…” may just look a bit like…like the messiah has come. And my Advent friends…. he has!

There is more light and truth yet to break forth from God’s Holy Word.

Prepare the Way! Mark 1:1-8

2011-12-05T09:22:00.000-08:00

*This sermon was preached on the second Sunday of Advent, December 4, 2011 at Zion Mennonite Churc, Hubbard, Oregon.

The senses come alive during this holiday season. The smell of burning candles rising into the air. The lights of the Christmas tree shimmering in the darkness. The warmth of a crackling fire while sipping a hot cup of chocolate with small marshmallows floating on top. Ahhhhhh… and the hushed silence of snowflakes gently falling on the...PREPARE THE WAY OF THE LORD! MAKE HIS PATHS STRAIGHT!!

John the Baptist enters the Advent season like a bull in a china closet. Amid the jingling of bells and carolers singing “Joy to the world,” we hear a cry that sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard. The grating voice of the Baptist disturbs our tender thoughts of a cooing baby in a makeshift crib. His ragged message of repentance seems as out of place as a wild eyed soup box preacher interrupting a presentation of Handel’s Messiah. John the Baptist brings strange gifts to our Advent table. Instead of a golden brown turkey, we get locusts with wild honey dip. In place of a new night robe and warm cotton lined slippers, we get scratchy camel’s hair with a leather belt.

Even so, if we are going to welcome the good news from the sweet voices of angels from on high, we will need to first listen to the raspy voice of John the Baptist crying out down there in the wilderness.

Listen…listen carefully to that distant voice crying out in the wilderness. The Baptist cries out for us to prepare the way for Christ’s coming. His voice echoes through the wilderness canyons. His apocalyptic cry has political overtones. In John’s day there were other prophets, like the one known as the Egyptian and is referred to in the book of Acts, who called the people of Israel out into the wilderness. It wasn’t because these prophets thought the desert might be a good place to spread their message. They cried out in the wilderness in a type of ritual reenactment of Moses’ deliverance of the slaves from Egypt through the wilderness and Joshua’s crossing the Jordan River in conquest of the Promised Land. Wilderness and river represented places of liberation from their oppressors and the possession of their land.

This may be the background of John’s prophetic wail in the wilderness. As Israel moans under the heavy weight of Roman imperialism, John the Baptist calls her out over the wilderness and through the river, the places where Israel was once liberated from the bonds of Egypt and took the land as their own. His cry in the wilderness may have been heard as an anticipation or preparation for liberation from Roman domination as the beginning of the coming reign of God. The symbolism of the setting was probably not lost on the politicians of the day, particularly king Herod. It wouldn’t be long for Herod to end a dinner date with John’s head on a dinner plate.

Words like “politics” “oppression,” “imperialism” and “liberation” are not words we necessarily want intruding into our Advent meditations. Who wants to hear the harsh voice of the Baptist howling, “Prepare the Way of the Lord! Make his paths straight!”? We might more readily welcome his words if his announcement was akin to “O, you better watch out. You better not cry. Jesus Christ is coming to town!” You know what, when the words John quoted were first uttered, they did come as welcomed words. John was quoting the prophet Isaiah, who first spoke those words in the days of Israel’s captivity in Babylon. The imagery Isaiah uses is from the practice of clearing the pathway of a potentate or god in preparation for the ruler’s procession to the city in order to be inaugurated as the sovereign of the people.

Bumps were leveled. Potholes were filled. Rocks were removed. Weeds were pulled up. Crooked places were straightened for the ruler’s procession to his people. Isaiah uses this imagery to proclaim a word of hope to his people sitting with drooping faces and arms limp at their sides in Babylonian captivity. “Prepare the way for God, who comes to liberate you and lead you across the wilderness, where God will reign among you in your own land,” cries the prophet Isaiah. Now, that’s a welcome Advent message.

John uses Isaiah’s imagery to tell his people to prepare the pathway for the One who comes bringing salvation and liberation to the people. Prepare the way! Remove the injustices and inequities that block God’s pathway. Lift up those valleys sunken by despair and despondency. Knock down the haughty hills of pride and prejudice. Prepare the way for God, who comes bringing justice and liberation through the messiah.

I remember picking up an edition of The Marketplace, a Mennonite business magazine, and seeing on the cover a roadway full of poor, barefoot Haitians clearing stones from a dirt road. With hoes and hands they removed rocks, filled in holes, and knocked down bumps in the roadway. These roadways are the only route for bringing in food supplies, gaining access to medical facilities, and transporting products to market. The new smooth roads are a vein pumping life blood to some of the poorest people in the world. These roads are highways of hope. Mennonite business people have been about the business of preparing the way. They have helped the Haitian people fill in their valleys with fruit trees and improved springs of water. They have assisted them in smoothing out the rough places of 125 roads and 5 dilapidated bridges. The glory of the Lord has been revealed in the form of food, livelihood, and healing medicines coming down those smooth roadways. Prepare the way of the Lord! Make his paths straight!

This may not be the Advent message we were hoping to hear amid the consumerist clamor. It is the season to buy and consume, not to care for the poor and hungry. ‘Tis the season to be jolly and to trample over one another in order to be the first to get a bargain at the department store! We don’t need no sermons on liberation and caring for the poor, preacher. It’s not something we like to hear. What we need is a more cheery message during Advent.

When Gavin was 4 years old we were coming home from school and Iris asked Gavin if he had a good day. Gavin cheerfully said, “Everyone in the world had a good day.” Iris responded, “Well, not everyone had a good day. Some people are poor and don’t have anything to eat. You would’nt want to be without anything to eat, would you? Gavin came back, “I don’t need no sermon talk!” In other words, “Don’t preach to me your pious moralisms!” ‘Tis the season to be jolly! Who wants to hear “Prepare the way of the Lord! Make his paths straight!” during Advent? I don’t need no sermon talk. Don’t preach to me your pious platitudes!

Many did not want to hear this kind of “sermon talk” from another Baptist of our own day---Martin Luther King, Jr. We resisted his prophetic words, because it meant changing our way of life. And it still does. Martin used the very words of Isaiah in his I have a Dream speech in at the Lincoln memorial in Washington D.C. (Get the symbolism of the setting?) He was not there just to create a warm, fuzzy Kum-Ba-Yah moment with blacks and whites holding hands and singing in harmony. His speech was both a sharpened prophetic vision of the reign of God and a concrete political and spiritual call for an end to white racism, discrimination, and segregation.
Like the prophets Isaiah and John, Martin stood in the wilderness of racial inequality and proclaimed:

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted,
Every hill and mountain shall be made low,
The rough places shall be made plain,
And the crooked places shall be made straight
And the glory of the Lord will be revealed
and all flesh will see it together.
I have a dream…

And for the messenger, like John the Baptist Martin would end up with his head on a platter, so to speak. Prepare a way for the Lord! Make his paths straight! Do we really want to hear this tough message during Advent? Do we want to listen to some cranky old voice denouncing racism when in our day we have an African-American president? Is the old sad song of antiracism what we want to hear when white racism seems to be an anachronism to many people today, a thing of the past? Aren’t we now a post-racial nation? Prepare the way of the Lord! Make his paths straight! It’s seems such an intrusive message into this Advent season.

What makes the message so intrusive is that it calls for us to change. Repent! For the kingdom of God is at hand! Change the direction of your lives! It sounds so guilt-producing. It seems such a negative message for Advent. In our seeker-sensitive-megachurch-consumer-oriented-self-absorbed-war-is-okay-until-it-becomes-inconvenient-culture words like “sin” and “repent” and “redemption” go over like a lead balloon.

This attitude is reflected in a Doonesbury comic strip. The “Reverend” is explaining to a couple inquiring about church membership about the basic approach of his Little Church on Walden:

Reverend: I like to describe it as 12-step Christianity. Basically I believe we’re all recovering sinners. My ministry is about overcoming denial, its about recommitment, about redemption. It’s all in the brochure there.

Wife: Wait a minute---sinners? Redemption? Doesn’t that imply guilt?

Husband: I dunno, there’s so much negativity in the world as it is.

Wife: That’s right. We’re looking for a church that’s supportive, a place where we can feel good about ourselves. I’m not sure the guilt thing works for us.

Husband: On the other hand, you do offer racketball.

Wife:So do the Unitarians, honey. Let’s shop around some more.

John’s abrasive message is part of Advent. Do we have Advent ears open to hear what he is really saying? Prepare the way of the Lord! Make his paths straight! Repent! The kingdom of God is at hand! The dominion of heaven is near! The age of God’s reign is just around the corner. The time is coming when God will cut down the trees of self-centeredness and injustice at the root. The season is at hand when peace and hope will bud and bloom. The day when war and violence shall forever cease is upon us. The hour when we will be judged not by the color of our skin but by the content of our character is at the doorstep.

As the streets are decorated with wreaths and fake snow is prayed on windows, the time is close at hand. As we make our shopping list and check it twice, the kingdom is coming! As we decorate the tree with lights and get out the Christmas recipes, the reign of God has a foot in the door. So, prepare a way for the Lord! Make his paths straight!

If we’re going to prepare the way for the coming reign of God, we better get started now. Grab a hoe. Get a shovel. Fill in a pothole. Level the road. Pick up a rock. Pull up a weed. Volunteer to feed the hungry. Work on a project for peace. Dismantle white racism. Let go of some of your privileges and possessions. Welcome a stranger. Visit a prisoner. For God’s dominion has already begun. God is coming down the highway of this wilderness world. Prepare the way of the Lord! Make his paths straight!

The apocryphal Gospel of Thomas reminds us that the coming reign of God we prepare the way for is already here:

(Jesus’) disciples said to him, “When will the kingdom come?” Jesus said, “It will not come by waiting for it. It will not be a matter of saying, ‘Here it is’ or ‘There it is.’ Rather the kingdom (of God) is spread out upon the earth, and (people) do not see it.”

From the baptismal waters John cried out, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near!” It was nearer than even John could imagine. But, thanks be to God, he had Advent eyes to see. For the road sign pointing to God’s reign stepped into the muddy waters of the Jordan river right next to him. He opened his eyes and looked at Jesus, stepping into the muddy Jordan River and said, “This is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” The Messiah of God’s dominion has come. Do we have Advent eyes to see even now God’s reign is spread out across this wilderness world?

Look. A Mexican woman meets with Mennonite leaders and teaches them how to understand other races and cultures in order to treat them with equity. Look. Soldiers are packing their camouflage duffle bags in Afghanistan and unloading their weapons. An army airplane hums outside their tent. It’s taking them home. Listen. The chatter of people waiting in line sounds like a Christmas carol. A doctor is spooning some stuffing into the plate of a homeless woman at the shelter. He does this every year during his vacation time. Listen. Children shout and laugh as water gushes from a newly built pump just finished in their village. Listen….listen closely…can you hear it? A distant coyote is howling in the wilderness and a faint voice is crying out…Prepare a way for the Lord. Make his paths straight.

Unexpected Advent: Isaiah 64:1-9

2011-11-27T14:05:00.000-08:00

*This sermon was preached on the First Sunday of Advent, November 27, 2011 at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, Oregon.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.

O, that you would tear open the heavens and come down! (Isaiah 64:1). I can understand the feeling of the prophet Isaiah. And maybe you can as well. There have been those times in my life when I wished God would rip the paper sky open and come down, do something dramatic, speak in a clear voice. There have been periods in my life when there was a stark silence, a deafening absence of God.

Church historian Martin Marty has given voice to my experience in his book A Cry of Absence: Reflections for the Winter of the Heart. Upon the death of his first wife Elsa, Marty turned to the Psalms in his grief. I have often turned to Marty’s reflections and to the Psalms in the frigid seasons of my soul. The psalms of lamentation cry out from the winter of the soul for God “to tear open the heavens and come down!”

The prophet Isaiah gives voice to the cry of absence from Judah in Babylonian captivity. He speaks a lamentation for the winter of Judah’s heart. The elite of Judah had been taken captive into exile in Babylon around 587 B.C. They were dragged off to a foreign land with its foreign gods and foreign customs, strange neighbors and strange foods. Judah felt defeated, displaced, and disoriented.

The prophet interprets the exile to Babylon in terms of God’s anger against Judah. He confesses to God on behalf of the people, “But you were angry, and we sinned; because you hid yourself we transgressed. We have all become like one who is unclean, and our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away…you have delivered us into the hand of our iniquity” (Isaiah 5b-6, 7b).

The captives in Babylon also feel like God has hidden his face from them (vs 7b). Where is God in our captivity? Have we left God behind in our homeland? Where is the God who with a powerful arm led us out of their bondage in Egypt? Where is the God who came down in fire and shook Mt. Sinai like a baby’s rattle and spoke with a clear and powerful voice through Moses? Where is the God who once defeated our enemies, Pharaoh and Egypt? Where is the God who miraculously fed us with bread from heaven and quail in the desert? Where is our God in Babylon? It was if the gods of Babylon had defeated and sent the God of Israel into exile away from them.

Isaiah gives voice to the cry of their heart in an anguished prayer to God: O, that you would tear open the heavens and come down. Show yourself, God. Make the mountains quake and let the nations shake before your presence! Reveal yourself to those who would scoff at us. Judah was longing for an advent of God

Where is God? Why doesn’t God do something earthshaking? Why doesn’t God come to our rescue? We have all been in life situations that give rise to those kinds of questions that are turned into prayers of anguish. In the struggles of a divided church someone cries out, “Lord, if only you would split the sky open and come down into the midst of this mess and heal us!” In a marriage teetering over the abyss of divorce a prayer goes out, “O God, why have you allowed this to happen?” In continued sickness and the increasing limitations of old age a wife prays, “Merciful God, where are you now that my husband needs you most?” In the persistent financial crisis, an unemployed man prays, “I haven’t had steady work for a year now. Where are you God? Give me a sign that you’re still there.” O, that you would tear open the heavens and come down!

Here is an important spiritual truth to remember. We only have a sense of God’s absence if at one time we have experienced God’s presence. We can talk about the silence of God only because we have, in some sense, heard God speak. The prophet Isaiah reminds God, “You did awesome deeds we did not expect.” He remembers when God was powerfully present and at work in Israel’s history. He points back to the wondrous works God performed in the Exodus, Sinai, and their wilderness wanderings.

Isaiah can only speak of Judah’s present experience of God’s absence and inaction because his people have experienced the awesome and unexpected deeds of God in the past. As so often is the case, in our experience of God’s absence and inaction within our lives, we often forget God’s awesome deeds we did not expect in the past. God’s movement in our lives comes to us as moments of grace, deliverance, and provision; unearned and unexpected. But, then we expect God to act and be present in the very same way and according to our timetable this time, in this situation. And if God does not act in the same ways, we experience God as absent, silent, or inactive. God may be present and acting, but not in the ways we expect.

I can testify to this truth. My call into Christian ministry was an unexpected and powerful experience; so powerful that I gave up my dreams of becoming an illustrator to enter pastoral ministry. Along that journey of being a pastor and a human being, I had periods of anguish when I cried out, “Where are you, God?” I would look at the difficulties I faced in life or in my ministry and God seemed to be silent, an absentee landlord. And I would pray something like the prayer of Isaiah, “O, that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”

Right after seminary I resigned from a position as an associate pastor at my home congregation due to staff conflicts. After languishing for three years outside pastoral ministry, though I searched and searched for a position, I ended up doing odd jobs, and I do mean “odd” for someone trained as a minister. I literally shook an angry fist at the heavens and cried out, “Where are you, God?” Unexpectedly a chance meeting with a Hollywood actor-turned-pastor landed me in on the stage of a creative church ministry position in Burbank, California.

A dying congregation struggling to survive puts the future of my pastoral work in jeopardy and causes me to cry out, “Lord, where are you?” Unexpectedly I get a phone call from a friend of Iris, who I briefly met at a conference, asking if I would consider the position of Minister of Peace and Justice for Mennonite Mission Network. His name is John Powell and he is on the cover of the most recent Mennonite magazine. My ministry of peace and justice and drumming for peace flourishes for seven years.

An economic recession impacts church giving, my whole department at Mennonite Mission Network is cut. At the same time Iris gets the Pacific Northwest Mennonite conference minister job and we move to Portland. I spend two years feeling like I am in exile. No ministry opening. There were few opportunities to use my gifts, calling, and training. I struggle against depression (with the added weight of Oregon’s dreary winter weather). Many times I cry out, “Where are you, God? Why don’t you rip open the sky and come down. Do something, anything!” At moments I wonder, “Have my sins brought this upon me?” Then, I get an unexpected call from a congregation and you know the rest of the story.

Get the pattern? During each crisis period I forgot something from my previous experiences of God’s absence. God had already done awesome deeds in my life. God had come to me when I least expected it. So, I just needed to wait upon the Lord.

You know what I mean, don’t you? The boss calls you in to his office and in a somber tone tells you, “We’re going to have to lay you off.” Your world is turned upside down. You pray to an empty sky. Your words don’t seem to make it past the ceiling. Then, sometime later a call comes unexpectedly over the phone, “Can you come in for an interview?”

A congregation is going through some intense struggles. They can’t seem find their way out. Old negative patterns just seem to repeat themselves over and over. During a Sunday morning service a member dares to pray out loud during the prayer time, “Lord, where are you? Why don’t you just come down from the sky and help us!” Several months pass. Some estranged members meet and offer each other forgiveness. Others let go of old grudges and confess their lack of trust. In their open sharing a new spirit begins to spring up, like a flower growing up through a crack in the cement sidewalk! Lord, you did awesome deeds we did not expect!

Now, I don’t want to negate experiences of anguish and the real sense of God’s silence and absence. The Bible doesn’t censor those feelings and experiences, but allows God’s people to express the cry of absence and to even throw jagged, anguished questions in the face of God. Just read the Psalms.

But, I do want to remind myself, and all of you, to remember that those experiences of anguish and absence are real because we have previously experienced God’s presence, God’s spontaneous grace, God’s awesome deeds, God’s unexpected advent in our lives.

Yet, O Lord, you are our Father….who works for those who wait for you. There is that divine “yet.” In spite of our sense of absence and our sin…yet, God is our divine Parent, still responding to us in love. In spite of our lack of trust, our impatience, our wanting to control the shape of our life experience, yet “we are the clay, and God is the potter” molding and shaping us.

The prophet Isaiah may begin with pleading in anguish for God to rip open the heavens and do some awesome deeds, like in Israel’s past. But, he soon moves back to a position of faith, trust, and hope that God will work for those who wait. Waiting calls for patience, faith, stick-to-it-iveness, hope, anticipation, and attentiveness to the subtle moments and movements of our lives.

Isn’t this what Advent is all about? Waiting? Eager anticipation? Isn’t that why we light a somber purple candle each week until we finally light the white Christ candle symbolizing Christ’s coming. Isn’t Advent about waiting upon God who comes into our lives gracefully, unexpectedly and works for us, for our good?

Advent is about waiting and hoping for the one who comes to our world of exile with good news of great joy. Through hopeful waiting Isaiah’s anguished cry of absence can be turned into an Advent cry of longing expectation: O, that you would tear open the heavens and come down.

There is more light and truth yet to break forth from God’s Holy Word.

Hospitable Sheep: Matthew 25:31-46

2011-11-20T20:20:00.000-08:00

*This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, Oregon, Reign of Christ Sunday, November 20, 2011

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer

As a preacher of peace and justice I have always liked Jesus’ parable of the sheep and goats. It gave me a chance to stick it to those people who didn’t care about the prisoner, the hungry, the poor, and the stranger. It’s a good parable to shove in the face of those evangelical types who think that right beliefs get you into heaven. You can show them how the final test for heaven, at least in this parable, has to do with whether or not you cared for the poor. In the end those unconcerned about “the least of these” will have hell to pay. That reading of the parable has given me some amount of self-satisfaction. But, is that the right way to read this parable?

Jesus’ parable of the sheep and goats is the last of three parable of three concerning the End Time in Matthew 25. In the parable of the ten bridesmaids we checked our preparedness for the coming of Christ. In the parable of the talents we examined how we use the cash of the kingdom while the master is away. In the parable of the sheep and goats we come before the final judgment of Christ, the king.

As the parable goes, when the Son of Humanity comes in glory, with all those glittery, flittery angels, he will take a seat on his golden throne to reign over his kingdom. All the nations of the earth, all tribes and tongues, races and religions will be rounded up like animals in a herd. Yeeehaw! The Shepherd king will separate the sheep from the goats, as the saying goes. That’s necessary because if they stayed together they might have kids (get it? kids?). Their offspring would eat metal cans and grow steel wool! Or they might grow little goatees!

The blessed sheep are placed on the king’s right hand, the righteous hand (Yeah, right handers!), and the damned goats are placed on his left hand, the evil hand (Boo, left handers!). Just kidding! Then the king says to those on his right side, “Come, sheepy dudes and wooly sistahs, join my partaaaay!” No. He says (in a deep religious tone with British accent), “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”

Why? Because you said the “Sinners’ Prayer”? Because you checked off all the right things on that official laundry list of orthodox beliefs? No. Because when I was hungry, you fed me (maybe some tacos from Taco Bell); when I was thirsty, you offered me a Dr. Pepper, I mean a drink; when I was a stranger, you…. Good morning, Sir. I haven’t seen you at our church before. Welcome. We would love for you to join us at our meal after the service today….you welcomed me. I was naked and you bought me some duds, some threads, translation: some clothes. When I had the cramps, you came over and gave me some Pepto. When I was up the river at the big house making personalized license plates, you dropped in for a spell. “Spell,” license plates,” get it? Translation: you visited me in prison.

Then all the sheepy dudes spoke in unison, “Bu-u-u-u-ut, Lord when did we offer you a taco, or a Dr. Pepper, or shake your hand, or buy you some threads, or bring you some Pepto, or say “Hi” at the hoosegow? (That was from my Gnarly Dude Revised Unstandardized Version.) And the king said, “This is the gospel truth. Just as you did it to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.”

Then, the Shepherd king will say to those goats on the lousy left (with words censored for young ears), “Darn you, get the heck out of here and hop on the devil’s grill. For you gave me no taco, or Dr. Pepper, didn’t shake my hand, bring me any duds, offer me a sip of Alka Selzer, or visit me in the slammer. And the oblivious goats came back, “Bu-u-u-t Lord, when did all of this go down? Please excuse the goatish expression, but we haven’t seen hide nor hair of you.” Then, the Shepherd king will say, “Here’s the God’s honest truth. Just as you didn’t do a dad-blamed thing for my brothers and sisters, you didn’t do it for me. Off to the barbeque pit you go. But, my groovy sheep they’re gonna be…”grazin’ in the grass. It’s a gas. Baby, can you dig it?”

What is this parable all about? Well, some have interpreted this parable as being about social ethics. As one with a passion for peace and justice, I have leaned toward this interpretation. In this interpretation of the parable all the nations (panta ta ethne) represent the whole world, including the Gentiles, Israel, and the church. The least of these represent the poor and vulnerable of the world. We are all those who will be divided into sheep and goats. The world will be judged by whether or not we had compassion on the world’s poor. Did we feed the hungry, provide for the impoverished, care for the sick, visit the prisoner? That’s the litmus test we will have to pass, not what we believed. Acts of compassion are what make the grade.

If I were to build a sermon on the foundation of this interpretation, I could easily point my long finger of prophetic justice at passive pew warmers, goats in sheep’s clothing, and castigate them for their lack of engagement in the critical social issues of the day. Maybe I would entitle the sermon A Parable to Get Your Goat. At the end of the sermon I could scold some of you for not being involved in Bridging Cultures, Canby Center, Peace and Justice Support Network (which I proudly led), Bread for the World, or Amnesty International. And some sheepy peace and justice lovers among us would probably clap their tiny little hooves. Yea-a-a-h for us! Sorry flock, but that’s not going to be my sermon.

There are a number of problems with this approach to the parable. First, there’s the problem of that little phrase the least of these my brothers (and sisters). It would appear that this phrase is describing disciples of Jesus. Then, all the nations would represent the Gentiles, the world, possibly including Israel. All the nations represent all of those outside the Christian community. If that is the case, then the parable would be about the world’s response to disciples of Jesus as missionaries to the nations.

What reinforces this interpretation is its context within the whole Gospel of Matthew, and particularly the parallels between Matthew 10 and Matthew 25. Matthew 25should probably be interpreted in light of Matthew 10, as a story visualizing Jesus words about his disciples’ mission. You see, Matthew 10 is about mission and evangelism. I can just see some evangelical sheep ears perking up. Matthew 10 is about Jesus’ mission mandate for the twelve disciples to take the good news to the twelve tribes of Israel. He sends them out without money or payment for their work, no change of clothes (Pee-you!), no bag for food, as sheep in the midst of…not goats, but ravenous wolves. These poor disciples will need to depend upon the hospitality of the people they encounter in their missionary travels. Matthew states that the End will not come until the gospel is proclaimed to all nations. Then, Matthew concludes with the Great Commission sending Jesus’ followers, that’s us folks, to evangelize all the nations.

Now, here are a few of the parallels that would justify interpreting Matthew 25 in light of Matthew 10: 1) In both texts Jesus speaks of his identification with the disciples: Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me/ Whoever welcomes a prophet receives a prophet’s reward/In that you did it to the least of these my brethren, you did it to me 2) In both passages water is to be shared with the disciples: whoever gives a cup of cold water/when did we see you thirsty? 3) And the one who shares will not lose their reward; 4) In both Matthew 25 and Matthew 10 the vulnerability of the disciples is emphasized. They are called these little ones/ the least of these my brethren. The twelve disciples have no money for food or drink. They are strangers among the people, facing the possibility of prison and persecution for their missionary work.

So, in the light of Matthew 25’s context within the whole of the Gospel, and most particularly Matthew 10, the parable’s judgment has to do with whether or not the world welcomes the messenger and the message the disciples bring, like the jailer who showed hospitality to Paul and Silas by washing their wounds and inviting them over for a meal (Acts 16:30-34) Does the world welcome the missionary disciples and the good news they bring? That is the basis of the last judgment.

If I created a sermon around this interpretation, it might make some passive, quiet, introverted sheep tuck their tails and run. I could entitle my sermon Evangelizing the World! I could point my long evangelical finger at the goats among us, shake it, and ask why you are not sharing your faith with their friends and neighbors? Hey, the disciples had to witness without money, food, or drink, and faced persecution and prison. More personally speaking, I had to go door to door and share with people the Four Spiritual Laws. I had to ask strangers, “If you were to die today, do you know for sure you would go to heaven. Are you a sheep or a goat, man!” So, why shouldn’t you have to evangelize the world? Wake up, people, the souls of the world hang in the balance. Their eternal destiny depends upon their hearing and responding to the missionary message from you. At the end of the sermon I could make you wiggle in your wool as I asked if you help provide for the needs of our missionaries or, better yet, ask if you are being an evangelist and missionary for Christ within our pagan world. The evangelical sheep in our flock would probably clap their tiny, little hooves and cheer, “Ha-a-a-llelujah, brother!” But, that sermon just might make others of you grow a goatee! Sorry, flock, I’m not going to preach that sermon.

There’s one little problem with this last interpretation. Jesus sent his disciples out saying, “Go nowhere among the Gentiles, and enter no town of the Samaritans, but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” In other words, don’t go to the nations! Then, why would Jesus tell a parable about how all the nations will be judged by whether or not they welcomed his missionary disciples? Did he just universalize his earlier words to apply to the whole world? Mmmm. Maybe.

How about this. Matthew, the writer of the Gospel, universalized Jesus words to include the whole world. Is that possible? Maybe. He seems to have done that type of thing throughout his Gospel, as do the other Gospel writers, that is, they shaped Jesus words for his own particular audience. Consider this possibility; under the influence (of the Spirit of the Risen Christ), Matthew added his own twist to the earthly Jesus’ words about the disciples’ mission to Israel by making it more universal in his shaping of Jesus’ parable.

Well, whether or not Matthew added his own twist to Jesus’ parable, I am going to add my own twist. More than that, I’m going to flip this parable around backwards. If this parable is about hospitality practiced or not practiced by the world toward Jesus’ missionary disciples, then I want to flip it around and have us consider how we welcome or don’t welcome the stranger among us. However we interpret this parable, welcoming and caring for the stranger in your midst is central to its message. I’ll leave any question related to judgment and upon what basis to God, but I do want us to consider the utter significance of hospitality.

Welcoming the stranger was a significant part of the culture and faith of God’s people. Remember the story of Abraham and Sarah and the three heavenly visitors who showed up at their tent? These angelic visitors were openly welcomed in the breaking of bread and the sharing of the cup, the sharing of a communion meal, as it were. The book of Hebrews talks about this story as welcoming angels unaware. Lord, when did we see you hungry?

In contrast to Abraham’s hospitality to angels, when heavenly visitors came to Sodom the people did not show hospitality. Like Abraham, Lot and his family showed hospitality to the angels with the bread and cup of communion. But, like some prisoners or soldiers at war the men of Sodom wanted to gang rape the strangers in a form of domination. This is not a story about homosexuality, any more than Lot’s counter offer of his daughters to abuse is about heterosexuality! This story is about hospitality shown and not shown to strangers. Lord, when did see you as a stranger and not welcome you?

The widow of Zarephath welcomed the stranger in the prophet Elijah. She offered him her last grains and a few drops of oil to make bread, which she planned to share with her son and then die. The widow and her son received the reward of an endless supply of bread and oil from the prophet. How holy and compelling was her desire to show hospitality! Whoever receives a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward.

Two disciples walking on the dusty road to Emmaus meet a stranger. They talk to him about Jesus and all that happened to him over the past days. The sun starts to go down and paints the hills purple. As the two near their village the stranger keeps on walking ahead. The two disciples tell the stranger it’s getting too late for him to go home alone, so they invite him to an evening meal at their home. As they break the bread their eyes are opened and they recognize it is the Lord. Lord, when did we see you a stranger and welcome you?

A visitor comes to Christ, the King Church for the first time. She doesn’t have a last name that anyone would recognize or a demeanor that would invite anyone close. Her Goodwill dress and weathered face tell a story. It’s the season of Advent, when Christians welcome Christ among us. The church has a lot of drop-in visitors during the season. She’s just another anonymous face. Like many visitors, she’s a stranger.

The lonely-looking woman sits next to a young, hip-looking couple on her left side that’s involved in the local food pantry and the church’s peace committee. They quickly glance over at her with questioning eyes. She fumbles with the bulletin, looks for which hymnal to sing from, and scratches her head while trying to figure out where in the world to find the Bible passage. The evangelical man in a gray suit on her right slips her a Bible tract and goes on singing. Oddly enough, the people on both sides of this stranger, the peace couple and the evangelical, have never themselves broken bread together. They might as well be strangers.

Everyone around her is singing with such longing in their voices: O come, O come Immanuel. After the service she walks out the front door without a greeting, a welcome, or a handshake. Even though she looks homeless and pregnant, no one questions if she has a place to stay or if she’s had anything to eat. She cradles the bulge of her stomach as she walks out under the gray afternoon sky and the red and gold leaves. Her name is….Mary. Lord, when did we see you a stranger and not welcome you?

There is more light and truth yet to break forth from God’s Holy Word.

Risky Business: Matthew 25:14-30

2011-11-14T08:18:00.000-08:00

*This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubard, Oregon on Sunday, November 13, 2010.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and redeemer.

Use 'em or lose 'em. That would make a nice title for a sermon based on the traditional interpretation of the Parable of the Talents. God has given each of us talents, like singing, teaching, or juggling. We should use these talents and not hide or hoard them. If we don’t use and develop our talents, we will lose them. The theme of this sermon might be: Don’t waste your talents. That would make a great sermon. But, that interpretation is based upon a misconception of the word "talents" in the biblical text.

In our parable a talent or talanta was a weight measurement that came to designate a monetary unit of gold or silver, like five bucks or a thousand smackeroos. But, the confusion is understandable in that our word “talent,” meaning special abilities, is actually derived from this word for a measurement of money! So, to clear up this confusion we should understand that in Jesus’ parable the master's slaves were given particular amounts of money not the ability to play piano or wiggle their ears. It's what they did with their amount of money, not their gifts or skills, which is the heart of the story. But, we will still need to figure out what the money represents.

Jesus' parable of the talents is nestled among a group of texts about the end of the age. This parable is told right before Jesus walks head on into the cross. It's a word to those who stand in that time before the end and count the cost of following Christ. The end of the age may not be breathing down our necks, but we seek to stand true to Jesus in the apocalyptic times of a worldwide economic crisis, housing market collapse, bank failures, the Occupy Wall Street movement, a staggering 14 trillion dollar deficit, and calls for fiscal conservatism. Standing where we are, the parable of the talents may be heard with new ears.

Listen. Jesus compares the coming reign of God with a well-to-do man who goes off on a journey. Maybe he's going on a long vacation in the Bahamas. With bags packed and ticket in hand, he calls his servants together near the spiral staircase. He opens a briefcase filled with crisp new bills and says to his servants, "I don't trust anyone with my money, except you." So, he gives one servant five million bucks, another servant two million, and the third servant one million in cold, hard cash. The boss says "goodbye," grabs his bags, steps inside his limo, and heads off for the airport.

The servant with the five million hops in his sports car and zooms off to Vegas. With a showgirl on each arm and a big toothy grin on his kisser, he puts five million worth of chips down on number twelve at the roulette wheel. Beads of sweat form on his brow as the ball is dropped in the spinning roulette. Clickety-clack, the ball spins around the numbers. "Number 12!" the caller shots. Five million more is added to his boss' money.

The servant with the two million invests it in the stock market. I think he bought stock in that novelty company which makes whoopee cushions and plastic barf. I'm not sure. Surprise, surprise, she makes another two million smackers.

The third servant immediately runs out, rents a safety deposit box with his own money, bolts it to the floor, tosses in the one mill, shuts the door, twirls the combination, sits on his bed and wipes his brow with a "Whew!"

Sometime later the boss returns from the Bahamas. He kicks his feet up on his large wood desk, lights a fat Cuban cigar, and calls his servants into his office over the intercom. He asks them for an accounting of his money. The guy entrusted with the five million plops down ten million on the hand carved coffee table. His boss says, "Well done, my good servant. I knew I could trust you with my money. So, now I trust you to be in charge of all my investments. Join me at my party later. Dude, we gonna get down tonight!"

The second servant hands over four million, double what she had been given. "Well done, my good servant. You have proven yourself more than trustworthy. You can be in charge of my estate. See you at the partaaay! Booyah!"

The third servant steps forward, hangs his head, and nervously squeeks, "Boss, I knew you were a hard-nosed businessman, a penny-pincher who expects to profit without doing any work. I was scared stiff. So, I went out and rented a sturdy safe, bolted it to the floor, and kept your money safe and sound. Here it is, every last cent." The boss slaps the money out of his hand and growls, "You lazy-good-for-nothin'-so-and-so, if you knew I was a penny pincher, who wants profit without perspiration, then why, in heaven's name, didn't you at least invest my money so it would have gotten some interest? Give your million to my first servant. I guess, the rich are just gonna get richer and the poor are gonna get poorer. You worthless you-know-what, you can get the blankety-blank out of here! You're fired! Throw the bum out in the alley with the other rats, so they can grind their teeth together! No party chance, Mr. Smarty pants!"

Now, ain't that an uplifting parable?! Maybe if you're a free market capitalist, a CEO of a large bank, a Wall Street investor, or a 1 percenter. Then, this parable might be understood to be about the cutthroat world of economics and the virtue of investing over saving. Jesus saves. But, his disciples….they invest! Is that what this parable is all about?

On the surface this parable is a bit troubling. First, the story is drawn from an unjust, exploitive, oppressive socio-economic system. It is a patron-client system that keeps the patron wealthy and the client impoverished. The patron controls the goods and its profits. The client is a steward of the patron’s property and makes money for him, enough money to extract a small wage for their services. This exploitive economic system was not only the system of ancient agrarian societies in the Mediterranean world of Jesus’ day, but is still practiced throughout so-called Third World countries today. It is a system whereby the minority rich get richer off the backs of the majority poor, who get poorer. Why in this world would Jesus use this kind of economic system to speak about kingdom values? I’ll let you answer that one for yourselves.

Second, if the parable is an allegory and the wealthy patron in this parable represents God or Jesus, then he is not a very honorable character, to say the least. As a matter of fact, he is downright nasty. In most early Jewish parables references to an authority figure like a master, king, or father represent God. If the wealthy master in this parable is God or Jesus, then we can do without that kind of master. Is this a caricature of the way some Pharisees viewed God, as a harsh taskmaster? Is it the way some of us view God? Why would Jesus tell a parable about a God who not only benefits from an exploitive economic system, but treats his servants unjustly, unequally, and with a nasty demeanor? I’ll also let you answer that one for yourselves.

Even with these difficulties with the parable, we should realize that this parable isn't about money any more than it is about special abilities. What is the wealth God has placed in our hands? What do the talents represent? The talents represent the “cash of the kingdom”----the secrets of the kingdom of heaven, the truths of God’s reign, possibly the teachings of Jesus, the good news of liberation and hope, the message of God's love for all humanity, grace and forgiveness, healing and hope. These are the talents Jesus left with us before going on a long journey. We have been left with his goods. Here we are today, while the master is away, with our different portions of the kingdom's cash in our hands. The crucial question for us to ask ourselves is: What are we going to do with the divine dough we have been entrusted with?

Traditionally in these types of ancient stories with three characters, the last character is the hero, like in the story of the Good Samaritan. Let’s see if this pattern repeats itself. In the parable the third servant went out, dug a hole, and buried his talent, which was not a bad thing to do. It was the same as putting it in a safety deposit box at the bank. There were no banks in the ancient world. Treasures were often buried in clay pots in the ground. The cash was safe and secure, as snug as a bug in a rug. This servant was protecting his master's money from being lost or stolen. It wasn't his money. To lose it would be a crying shame. So, it's better to be safe than sorry. “Safe,” get it?

The last servant, who seemed to have done the right thing with his money, probably represents the Pharisees of Jesus’ day. They saw their role as preservers and protectors of the Torah or Law safeguarding Israel’s faith. They were preoccupied with securing and conserving its truths, but forgot to practice grace and mercy. In their inflexibility with the Law they shut others out of the kingdom of heaven.
Even if the last servant represents the Pharisees, don’t you wonder why he earned the label "worthless" and was given such hell by his master? I mean, give the guy a break. He kept his master’s money safe. At least give him that much! I'll bet this guy was dependable and trustworthy. When it came to money he was probably thrifty, prudent, a penny-pincher, a real spend-thrift, a real…. Mennonite. If you loaned him anything you got it back just like you gave it to him. You could have him hold your money and he wouldn't be tempted to buy lottery tickets, that's for sure. The third servant was nothing like the third servant in the Gospel of the Hebrews who squandered his master’s money on “harlots and flute girls.” He must have been very cautious about his life. No going out on a limb. No risk taking, especially with somebody else’s money!

I imagine this third servant was a regular churchgoer. A chairman of the “bored” at the First United Safe and Doctrinally Sound Haven of Rest Church of the Secure Saints. The church of the third servant sees God as a hard-nosed Judge, who will lay down the law on judgment day. So, they're keeping the faith safe and secure for when Jesus comes back. That means burying it within the four walls of the church building. They wouldn't want to share their faith with their neighbors. They might risk embarrassment, being taken for religious kooks, or worse yet, be labeled a…a…Christian!

Missions and outreach ministries are too risky. You take a chance when you invest the cash of the kingdom in the marketplace of the world. Everything out there in the world isn't black and white. If you take your faith into the public arena, it's always a gamble. You risk compromising the faith, diluting it, or getting it mixed up with all those pagan cultures out there and losing it all together. And at First church they're a bit leery of newcomers, particularly those who don't have the right upbringing, family background, or last name. "We wouldn't want to risk our heritage with those outsiders," chant the members of First Church of the Safe and Secure.
"We believe the faith ought to be kept safe and sound," confess the members of the church of the third servant. Their crusade is to conserve and preserve. "Caution" is branded on their wallets and purses. Use your resources only on a sure thing. "Let's do things the way we've always done them," is their motto. They all have bumper stickers that say, “But, we’ve never done it that way before.” There’s is the safe approach. "Take no risks with the treasures God has given us," is engraved on a dusty old plaque hanging in the foyer.

At First Church of the Safe and Secure they're as traditional as a savings account and as orthodox as the day is long. They dot the "i's" and cross the "t's" on their confession of faith. They hold in their hands the faith once and for all times delivered to the saints and will hand it back to God just as they received it. The teachings of Jesus, the treasures of the kingdom are locked up in the safe of their memories with little risk of being spent, invested, or gambled on within this slot machine world. They don’t try anything risky or what might stir up the scrupulous, fault-finding members the Church of the Safe and Secure. For that they should be commended. Right?

We definitely shouldn't commend the first two servants. Should we? Of course not. They gambled with the master's money. There were no guarantees that the investment of their talents in the marketplace was going to double. They could have lost it all. I'll bet those two servants were risk takers, the kind of people who make us feel uneasy. They're always ready to try something new, take a dare, go on some crazy new adventure. Don't they know their foolhardy, devil-may-care approach to life may put them at risk?

I can just imagine the kind of church the first two servants attend; the Church of Risky Business. They recklessly try new ways to communicate the gospel to a new generation. Forms of worship, styles of music, their language about God and faith are viewed as flexible as bungee cords. To them preserving the faith sounds like pickling it, jarring it, freeze-drying it, and putting it on a shelf to collect dust. Their confession is simple: "Love God with everything you are. And while you're at it, love your neighbor as much as you love yourself. Everything else will fall in place."

They're willing to drop the ball of their faith into the roulette wheel of a spinning world. Go where the action is. Live where the living is. And let the dead bury their own dead. At this church the members invest themselves and their faith without the surety of reward. Who knows if living faithfully will pay off? They're not out for stars in their crowns. They invest the master’s bucks for the master's benefit.

At this church they avoid investing their resources and energies in the safety and security of their own banks and buildings. Neither do they bury the divine dough in the deep hole of their own personal needs. For some people that can be a mighty deep hole. At the Church of Risky Business, where the first two servants attend, the cash of the kingdom is invested in the uncertain stock market of the world. Joyfully welcoming the outsider. Chancing redemptive resources on those who can't pay back one red cent. Visiting prisoners, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, without requiring a sermon for soup. Forgiving people when they haven’t done a single thing to earn their forgiveness. Banking on the message of a Crucified Criminal. A bright banner hangs in the sanctuary of the Church of Risky Business. Gold letters underneath a rough cross shout, "Those who save their lives will lose them. Those who give their lives away will save them."

So, when the Master returns from a long journey, which servants do you think will be commended? Let's dare a guess. Those who bury the divine dough? Or those who take a chance and bank on the risky business of investing the kingdom's cash in the messy marketplace of the world? Can't you just see the Master behind the banquet table inviting all his dicey disciples to grab a chair and drink a toast. And can't you just hear him saying, "Let’s drink to all my good and faithful servants. Well done. Now, it’s time to partaaaaay!"

There is more light and truth and joy yet to break forth from God’s Holy Word!

You've Given Me Time: Matthew 25:1-13

2011-11-06T15:50:00.000-08:00

*This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, OR on Sunday, November 6, 2011

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.

What would you do if you had only six months to live? Some of us might go into a deep depression, withdraw into ourselves, and do nothing. Others might methodically set out to make arrangements for their funeral, buy their casket, make out their will, and say their last farewells totally denying their inner feelings. Some of us might dare to take some risks and do some of those wild and crazy things we only dreamed of doing all of our lives; do our “bucket list.” Still others might not do anything different from what they have been doing all along. What would you do if you only had six months to live?

You know what? This is the God’s honest truth. All of us do have only six months left to live. We just don't know which six months. So, the real question becomes, "How are we going to live in the days before the end?"
The early church lived in eager anticipation of the End. But for the early Christians the End was conceived not so much in terms of the end of life, but rather the end of the present age. They viewed the End in terms of the return of Christ. They saw themselves as living "between the ages", between Christ's first coming in humanity and his second coming in glory. They believed that Christ was coming very soon, possibly even tomorrow. And they eagerly awaited Christ's immanent return. They saw Christ as waiting, as if just around the corner, ready to come back and receive unto himself the church as his virgin bride. Then, the door of time would be shut and the final judgment would take place. Believers would then be ushered in to sit at God's heavenly banquet table of blessing. The End.

But their expectation of Christ's immanent return was disappointed, as disappointed as Harold Camping’s followers after his two failed attempts at predicting the end of the world. Christ did not return. There were some early believers who were disturbed by the fact that some among them had already died. What would happen to them when Christ returned? Soon the church had to deal with how they were to going to continue to live, and possibly die, within the present world in light of the delay of Christ's future coming. They still expected Christ to return. But the more pressing question for them became, "How are we going to live in the days before the End?"

Today's parable of the Ten bridesmaids asks this same question in the form of a story. It is written in the language of the End Time. This parable is set within a section of Matthew's gospel dealing with the End Time. The parable likens the coming of kingdom of heaven to ten bridesmaids in a wedding party who went out in the evening, under the starry sky, to escort the bridegroom with their lighted lamps. The golden glow of their lamps lit their way. Five of them did not take along any flasks of oil to replenish their lamps, while the other five did. The bridegroom was delayed in his coming to meet them. All ten bridesmaids grew drowsy while waiting and laid down to sleep. All was still and quiet, except for the gentle chirping of the crickets. Ten sets of eyelids softly closed without a care in the world. Then, at the stroke of midnight there came a shout ... "THE BRIDEGROOM IS COMING!"

All ten startled bridesmaids jumped to their feet and began hurriedly preparing their lamps, which had been burning while they slept. Five of them were not prepared for the moment. They had not brought along extra oil for their lamps. So they turned to the other bridesmaids and said, "Please give us some of your oil, because our lamps are going out." But the prepared bridesmaids said, "No!•Then there will not be enough for anyone of us. You better head to an all-night 7-11 and get some oil for yourselves!" Five lit lamps are better than ten unlit ones.

While the five unprepared bridesmaids were out buying oil the bridegroom finally came. Those who were prepared followed him into the wedding banquet. Then there came a loud bang as the wedding door was shut tight. A little later the other bridesmaids finally made it to the wedding hall and saw that the door had been shut. So they hammered on the door pleading, "Lord, lord, open the door!" Then they heard a voice say from within, "I'm telling you the truth. I do not know you." And they all did not live happily ever after. The end.

Believe it or not, we are the waiting bridesmaids. You and I. The Christian community. We too live "between the times" of Christ's first and final coming. But, unlike the early church we live in an age in which the long delay of Christ's coming has dulled the once sharpened edge of anticipation. Waiting for over 2,000 years does not compel one to tiptoe in expectancy! If there is anything in these present days that threatens us with a sense of the end it is moments of ultimate crisis: The shuffling feet of the doctor with steel clipboard coming into the hospital room saying, "I'm sorry. But, it's malignant" or the nightmare of the button being pushed which launches the war to end all wars, and all life. But, until some voice shouts in our ear that we are near the end of our opportunities, our life, our world, we grow drowsy in the sleepy assurance that regardless of God's plans and intentions, these moments will go on forever.

Unlike the ten bridesmaids, we have come to expect delay. We live as if tomorrow never comes. Our priorities, our concerns, our use of time, our ways of living and acting, are molded by this mindset. We think that we will always have time to act, to decide, to believe, and to live our lives in service to God. And yet, the truth is that we are the ten bridesmaids who live in the shadow and the light, the promise and the threat of the End of the age, the coming of the kingdom, and Christ's return. Whether we think of the in breaking of the end in existential terms, as those critical moments of life's decisions or as the finality of death or whether we think of the End in the truthful language of the impending return of Christ, we all live our present lives before these finalities. And depending on our state of heart and soul, these decisive moments stand before us either as a welcoming bridegroom or a shut door.

The question that confronts us today is, "How are we going to live in the days before the end?" How are we going to live our present lives in the light of the finalities of life in our present world and the world to come. Right now the bridegroom's coming is delayed and the door is still open. We live "in between the times." In the light of God's coming kingdom, which presses in upon the present, how are we to live our lives here and now?

We can live in the present either foolishly or wisely. To live foolishly is to be caught unprepared, with no oil for our lamps. The foolish depend upon others to provide them with oil to replenish their burned out lamps. They trust the merchants to be up at all hours. And they believe that if they are late, the door will always be open to them. To live foolishly in the present is to believe that there will always be enough of life’s resources and there will always be time to act. It is foolish to believe that we will be guaranteed life's fullness, here and now or in the age to come, no matter what we do or do not do.

We find ourselves in the company of the foolish when we act as if someone else will take responsibility when our lamps run out. Others will be a lamp to our feet and light for our path. Others will provide us with the oil that fills our spiritual lives. Others will take the responsibility of being the light of the world. Others will share the oil of generosity. Others will fill those blanks on the church nomination ballot. Others will share their gifts, so I can relax, rest, and be unprepared. Others will cover for my lack of financial stewardship. Others will contribute to the health of the congregation. Others will share the oil of forgiveness, even when mine runs out. Others will teach that Sunday School class. Others will reach out to their neighbors. Others will be ready to invite friends to church. The good deeds of others, our family, our friends, our fellow Christians, our pastor will somehow make up for our lack. So, why should we worry or be prepared for the end? There is plenty of time. To live foolishly is to expect others to foot the bill of responsibility for our lives before God and the coming kingdom.

Even in the light of the kingdom that is coming, we may squander our present on foolish pursuits and fleeting activities that do not serve the eternal purposes of God. We can burn up our lives on that which does not last. But finally, there comes that moment, that hour, that day, that time when the opportunity to make a difference is gone forever. There is no more time to forgive and to reconcile with that person with whom we are estranged and bitter. There is no more time to do those things we promised God we would do “when we have the time.” There is no more time to change those old destructive habits. There is no more time to share our gifts and serve God in the church and community. There is no more time. The present is lost, the bridegroom comes, and the door is shut. The end.

But the story has not ended. There is time to change. There are opportunities to make a difference. We are still alive. We still have the present in which to act. The final kingdom has not yet come. We can be prepared, with lamps burning. We have been given time. Surely the delay of Christ's final coming is the most dramatic symbol of God's grace to our world and our personal lives. The image of the waiting bridegrooms visualizes for us the grace of an open door of opportunity to be ready to meet God in the here and the hereafter.

The present is therefore a gift. To live wisely is to always have our lamps full. It is to live our lives fully in the grace of the present moment with a kind of urgency. Living wisely is not sitting around speculating when the final whistle will blow, but rather becoming actively engaged in life in the present for the sake of the God who has already come to us in Christ and continues to come to us in our ordinary, everyday moments.

Last Friday evening Iris and I went to see the futuristic action movie “In Time” (not End Time). It reminds us that we all have been given a limited amount of time. In this future world everyone’s internal clock starts ticking at 25 years old marking one year left to live. The amount of time a person has left to live is digitally embedded in their arm. Time is money. Seconds, minutes, hours, days are bought, sold, stolen, and given away. Time can run out. Time is a precious commodity. Minutemen steal time from the poor. Timekeepers are like police who monitor the flow of time. The rich have more time, like money, than the poor. Time is not evenly distributed. Time can be wasted away.

One character, Sylvia realizes she has been given an infinite amount of time by her rich father. And yet, she has not really lived a day of her life. She joins Will and they become two Robin Hoods who steal time from the rich and give it to the poor.
The movie’s metaphors can remind us that God has given us all time. It is a precious commodity, a gift. Like oil in a lamp, time is limited. It is unevenly distributed. When we run out of time, that’s the end. But, unlike the movie, in real life the time we have been given is all that we have to use. So, we can use time wisely or foolishly.

To live wisely is to be a responsible disciple in the present. It is to take personal responsibility for the nurturing and fullness of our own inner lives, and to make sure we do not burn out. And a wise disciple will be prepared when called upon to burn their lamps on behalf of Christ. They will be ready to let their lights shine before others, so that they may see their good deeds and glorify their Father who is in heaven. The lamps of the wise will be filled up with the oil of being present to the lonely and hurting, sharing our food with the hungry, and using our gifts in service to Christ.

The wise see the present as both a gift and a demand. A gift in that we have been given time to respond to God's kingdom. A demand in that we are being called upon to respond and act here and now.

Wise persons live their lives fully in the present and are prepared for any kind of finality. There is a story that reminds me of those old threats the pious once used on Christians who enjoyed playing cards. The question that was designed to produce godly fear in the godless card players was; "What if the Lord were to come back at this moment?" Well, this story is a little different! Some Christian people were playing cards. And they were discussing what they would do if they knew for certain that death would come to visit them in the next hour. What would they do? One said that he'd go to church and begin praying; another suggested confession. But then one wise woman said that she would just go on playing cards, doing what she was doing in the present, and dealing, if it were her turn. It sounds like that woman's lamp was already full. She was prepared. Are you?

"You've given me time." These poignant words were heard from the lips of a dying father in a 1977 television Christmas special entitled The Gathering. In the opening scene the father, played by Ed Asner, is talking with his doctor. He discovers how few days he still has left to live. So, the father realizes that the time he has left is a gift. He says to the doctor, "You've given me time!" Suddenly, in the light of the end, it was not a matter of how much time he had but how he was going to use it. He spent his time healing, mending, and reconciling family relationships, which prior to the impending end of his personal life he had postponed or avoided. With the time he had, he chose to live wisely and fully in the present, because he saw himself as having been given time.

As Christians, who believe in Christ's coming kingdom, we can thank God that we have all been given time. The present time is our gift to respond, to act, to heal, to mend, to reconcile, to share, to love, to live each day in the light of God's kingdom. Those who are foolish will burn up their time and present opportunities rehashing the past, licking old wounds, wasting away their moments and days, burning up the little oil they have. Those who are wise will be prepared to meet the bridegroom, at whatever hour he may come. They will be ready when the celebration begins and the door of opportunity slams shut. The End.

There is more light and truth yet to break forth from God’s Holy Word.

Practicing for Heaven: Revelation 7:9-17

2011-10-31T23:16:00.000-07:00

*This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, OR on All Saints Sunday, October 30, 2011.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.

You’ve probably heard this joke, but I’ll tell it anyway. The punch line is worth the retelling. This joke comes in several versions and has been adapted to fit the audience in which it is told. I first heard it as a Baptist. Since this audience is Mennonite, I will make it fit us.

A man died and went to heaven. He met Saint Peter at the pearly gates, who gave him a tour of heaven. Peter and the man came to a cloud with a bunch of winged saints genuflecting, making the sign of the cross, and praying the rosary. Peter says to the man, “Those are the Catholics.” They came upon another cloud of winged saints rolling on the mist, raising their arms in the air, and shouting “Hallelujah!” Saint Peter says to the man, “Those are the Pentecostals.” Finally, they came to a cloud with winged saints hard at work on a project and Peter put his finger to his lips and says, “Shhhhh. Those are the Mennonites. They think they are the only ones here.”

That joke is funny and sad at the same time. We can laugh at it for naming our tendency to think that our group has a corner on God’s truth. It’s sad in that this joke about being arrogantly exclusive is so adaptable to different Christian groups that people across the church still get it! Even the heaven imagined in this joke is a place in which the church is still divided into separate groups of likeminded Christians or is considered to be exclusively for people like us.

I’ll bet whoever those saints are on that one lonely cloud, they probably died believing with all their hearts the kind of theology I heard in a children’s song for the first time this week. It was a song someone listened to as a child. It goes like this:

One door and only one
And yet its sides are two
Inside and outside
On which side are you?

One Door and only one
And yet its sides are two
I’m on the inside
On which side are you?

This self-congratulatory little children’s song presents a pretty exclusive view of heaven. This song doesn’t sound or look anything like the children’s song from Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. Would you be mine? Could you be mine? This song gives the impression that the saints in heaven are those who believe they are the only ones on the inside, people on our side of the door, people pretty much like us. I’m on the inside. On which side are you?

Our scripture text for All Saints Sunday presents us with a different vision of the saints in heaven. John, the writer of Revelation, has a vision of a wide heaven, as wide as the sea. The saints he describes in heaven are not there because they believed they were on the inside of heaven’s door, that somehow those who believed like they did were the only citizens of heaven.

John describes two groups or perspectives of saints in heaven. What appears as two groups may be one group seen from a different perspective. The first group is numbered at 144,000 of the twelve tribes of Israel, who are sealed. That is, they are marked for protection. These may represent the new Israel, the people of God in all their diversity, Gentile as well as Jew. The number is a symbol of completeness.

There is second group or second perspective of the same group in John’s heavenly vision. He sees “a great multitude” of people that no one can count. They come from every nation, from all tribes and peoples. These saints are robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. In contrast to armies that wash the blood of their enemies from their robes after battle to be purified, these saints have been washed in the blood of the nonviolent Lamb. They cry in a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God, who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!” Salvation does not belong to the Roman emperor and is not an exclusive possession of our particular group “inside the door,” but salvation belongs to God and to the Lamb.

The saints John sees in heaven are there not simply because they believed a certain laundry list of things or some salvation formula, but because they are witnesses. Interestingly, the Greek word for “witness” is the same word for “martyr.” These saints have witnessed to their faith with their own bodies. They have come out of a “great ordeal.” These saints have lived faithfully in the midst of persecution, trial, and tribulation. They have resisted the imperial Roman propaganda of divine emperor worship and remained faithful to Christ, the Lamb. They sing a subversive song that undermines the state’s bloody, violent, and oppressive idea of peace and salvation. These saints have lived their faith.

And here is what I want us to see. John’s vision of the saints in heaven is of a multicultural, multilingual, multinational cloud of witnesses. The saints are not . one homogeneous group of people, like most of our congregations. Neither are they cookie cutter Christian, made from the same mold, like what some Christians think we should be. As the universal, transcultural church of God these saints speak different languages. They come from different worldviews. They share in diverse customs and rituals. They have a rainbow of skin colors. They are from different social and economic locations. They each have their own stories, personalities, and family backgrounds. And I suspect these saints in heaven did not all believe exactly the same thing. This great multitude of saints stretches the word “diversity” to its breaking point! And they are all in unity! They all sit at the welcome table of God. They are united in praise of God and the Lamb! Hallelujah!

I was privileged to be part of group of musical saints which took as their name Revelation 7:9. It was a bit of heaven. Not just because we played Rock, soul, jazz, spirituals, and African music, but because we were composed of a European-American, two African-Americans, a Mexican-American, and a Puerto-Rican-American. And believe it or not, we were all Mennonites! And we were only a fraction of the diversity of the saints in the Mennonite Church.

As I ponder John’s vision of the saints in heaven, my vision of heaven has been shaped by images from the World Christian Gathering of Indigenous Peoples. This is a triannual gathering that brings together indigenous peoples from around the world to worship together and discuss how they can bring their diverse worldviews, cultures, and rituals into their worship and practice, just as white Europeans have done for centuries.

When Iris worked for Mennonite Central Committee she was part of this gathering when it met in Australia. She brought back some videos of the worship services she attended. The images were amazing. Here was the church in all its diversity, from many tribes, nations, languages, cultures, worshiping God together in unity! Maori men with tattooed faces thrusting out their tongues in defiant dances. Hawaiian women in grass skirts dancing the traditional hula. Native Americans in full head dress and beaded leather outfits stomping and twirling. Painted-faced aboriginal people playing the digeridoo and clacking their boomerangs together. All were praising, dancing, singing, and worshipping God together as one church! Amazing! Praise be to God and to the Lamb!

If heaven looks like that, count me in! At the same time, if heaven looks like that, we may need to “practice for heaven.” What do I mean by that? In a rhetorical or figurative sense I mean living into the vision. John’s heaven is a literary vision whose purpose is to shape how the church is to live in the here and now. John’s Revelation is not so much a blueprint for the future as it is a vision for shaping how we live in the present. Revelation not only constructs a vision of the world in which principalities and powers are in a cosmic struggle. It also creates the vision of a world healed and whole, a faithful church with saints from across the globe gathered in praise to God. These visions or revelations are not like a crystal ball that allows us to peer into the future. Rather, they allow us to see what the church can be when it resists the powers of division, demonization, death, and destruction and become the diverse, divine, determined church God meant for us to be.

In a more literal sense, “practicing for heaven” means getting ready for the future church. That is, if we think of heaven as a literal place where we go, a place where all the saints are gathered together, then we might be in for a rude awakening when we get there. Remember the faces of God’s neighbors from last Sunday? If heaven is a place, well, we may see a lot of those kinds of faces in heaven. Are we prepared for that? If we are having a hard time tolerating some of the people in our own generally homogenous congregation, we may be in for a big shock in heaven!

And try to get this picture in your head. God will not be expecting from us just a distant, cool welcome of all these diverse people. God will be throwing a party, a feast, a banquet and throwing her arms around a bunch of strangers, misfits, prodigals, and people that don’t look like any kind of Christian we would warm up to! Are we ready for that?

If not, we better start practicing. Practicing for heaven will mean more than arrogantly believing that I’m on the inside of heaven’s door and you, I’m not so sure about you. Practicing for heaven will mean not just rubbing shoulders with people with different worldviews, Christian perspectives, customs, cultures, languages, nationalities, economic and political ideologies, but it will mean embracing them as saints, God’s children, brothers and sisters.

So, look out over this congregation and ask yourself, “How do we practice for heaven?” What will that mean for worship at Zion? One race or ethnic group? One language? One type of music? One way to worship? How do we show hospitality to new people? Make them fit into our mold? Make them find their way into the center of our church life? How do we deal with people in the congregation who have different perspectives from us? Ignore them? Complain about them? Love them? That may take some heavenly kind of practice.

Look at our surrounding communities and ask yourself, “How do we practice for heaven?” What will that mean about how we relate to other Christians? Who is our neighbor? Should we invite people who have never set foot in a church to come through our church doors? Or should we stand on the inside, look out at our neighbors and arrogantly ask them “on which side are you?” If I know anything about Jesus, he may be standing outside the doors with the misfits and outsiders!

Look out across our wild and wonderful global community and ask yourself, “How do we practice for heaven?” Can we learn something about being church from our brothers and sisters around the globe? Maybe then heaven will look more like a fiesta or a dance.

What will practicing for heaven mean for you? Our congregation? Our Mennonite Church? Our ecumenical relationships? Our global community? Just imagine all of God’s people gathered together in praise. Imagine a truly global, multinational, multicultural, multilinguistic communion of the saints?

After this I looked, and there was a multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice, saying, “Salvation belongs to our God, who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!”

There is more light and truth yet to break forth from God’s Holy Word.

Loving Our Neighbors: Matthew 22:15-22

2011-10-23T15:25:00.000-07:00

*This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Church on Sunday, October 23, 2011.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood; a beautiful day for a neighbor would you be mine, could you be mine? For three decades Fred Rogers, an ordained Presbyterian minister, songwriter, and television host, taught us all about being a good neighbor on the children’s TV show Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. Fred Rogers was a good neighbor to everyone. He got up at 5 am every morning to read his Bible and pray. He didn’t wear his Christian faith like a pin on his cardigan sweater but displayed his love for God through his love for all God’s children. His gentle and loving character and welcome of all kinds of people made him something of a Christ figure. Here was a man who knew what it meant to love your neighbor.

In our scripture text for today we meet another “gentle man” who taught us all about loving our neighbor. Having heard that Jesus had shut the pie holes of the Sadducees, who tried to entrap him, the Pharisees put their heads together for another plan. They had a lawyer test Jesus. Now this was not the kind of lawyer you see in a business suit with briefcase who defends his clients in a court. This lawyer was an expert in the Torah, Jewish law. The lawyer asked Jesus a test question, “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the law?” In the Gospel of Luke the lawyer tests Jesus with a totally different question. “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?”

Now, I’m not exactly sure what the strategy was behind the test question. Did the Pharisees think that Jesus might say something against the law? Did they hope that Jesus would trip over his own feet, reveal his lack of knowledge, and undermine his authority? Would Jesus elevate some laws over others and dismiss other important ones? Is the lawyer checking this teacher’s credentials? I’m not sure.

I am sure about Jesus’ answer. Although the lawyer asks what is the greatest commandment, Jesus’ curiously answered with two commandments. The first and greatest commandment is from Deuteronomy 6:5. It immediately follows what is known as the Shema or Shema Yisrael in Deuteronomy 6:4. This verse is the centerpiece of Jewish faith. Today it is begins the morning and evening Jewish prayer services. It encapsulates the essence of Jewish monotheism. Sh'ma Yis'ra'eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad. Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is one.

Following the Shema is the great commandment, which Jesus restates. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the greatest commandment. Jesus passed the test! He should have gotten an A. In Mark’s gospel the lawyer confirms that Jesus gave the right answer, as if to say, “Your teaching credentials are okay.”

Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. This commandment indicates a deep passion for God. This is not a casual, platonic relationship we’re talking about here. Stop by God’s house on Sunday morning, drop a dollar in the plate, and go about your merry business the rest of the week. Can you imagine if that was the kind of relationship we kept with another person? Dumpsville, here I come!

The great commandment uses the dangerous language of “love.” And men, we know that when we first uttered that loaded word, as hard as it may have been, it meant one thing….commitment. Right, men? That’s one reason why we don’t take that word lightly. It means committing yourself, your whole self, to someone else. Heart, soul, mind, and strength. Everything that you are. Love is a serious commitment, not to be taken lightly.

The greatest commandment even goes further than that because the love and commitment are to God. This commandment is like the conditions for marriage to God! No fooling around here. No sitting on the couch, eating chips, and watching the game while God stands in the kitchen doorway tapping her foot waiting for you to take out the trash. No running off with the guys to go hunting while the “little lady” stays at home caring for the sick kids. Loving God with every fiber of our being is serious stuff. It’s lifelong. It can be tough. Loving God means….gulp….commitment.

Then, Jesus did something curious. He added a second commandment to answer the lawyer’s test question. He said, “And the second is like it.” Wait a minute Jesus, I only asked for one commandment. Now, you’re giving me two? What’s the deal?

Love your neighbor as yourself. What has that got to do with loving God? Why the two commandments? This commandment comes from Leviticus 19:18. Jesus answered the lawyer with two commandments because….you can’t have one without the other. Loving God and loving neighbor are inextricably tied together, like a marriage. You want a good relationship with me, you will have to have a good relationship with my wife. Jesus is saying, “You want to love God, then you will have to love your neighbor.” The two go together like two peas in a pod, like twins in a family, like close friends for life. They are inseparable.

Uh, oh. This is beginning to sound like I may have bitten off more than I can chew. My commitment to God, like my commitment in marriage, means that all those crazy relatives come with the deal? You’ve got to be kidding! Loving God means loving my neighbors? And I’m supposed to love my neighbor as I love myself? Does that mean if I don’t care for myself all that much it let’s me off the hook? This is getting tougher by the minute.

1 John doesn’t help us out much either. It puts jagged teeth in the link between loving God and neighbor where it says: “If anyone says, ‘I love God’ yet hates their brother (or sister), they are a liar!” If you don’t love your neighbor, who you have seen, then how can you love God, who you haven’t seen? Duh! Whoever loves God must also love their neighbor.

The commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves is more than a hope for interpersonal relationships. It’s a social vision. This is how a people, a community are to live together under God. When we think of neighbor, we think of people living next door to us in our neighborhood. Not those on the other side of town or across the tracks. The commandment in Leviticus probably had in mind the fellow Jew; the whole community of faith in all its nasty diversity, including the marginalized, the widow, the poor, and the sick. The neighbor was anyone who was part of their faith community, their people. Translated for us: Love your fellow Christians. What? And I was just about to put that bumpersticker on my car that says, “Lord, save me from your followers!”

But, Jesus took love of neighbor evn further. In Luke’s version of this narrative after Jesus answered the lawyer with loving God and neighbor, the lawyer asks another question: “And who is my neighbor?” He told him the parable of the Good Samaritan, which used to be an oxymoron, like “military intelligence” or “found missing.” Jesus gives the lawyer, and whoever was listening in, a visual picture of what being a good neighbor looks like. In essence Jesus was saying with his parable, “Who is my neighbor? Well, let me paint you a picture.” In his squirmy story Jesus put a despised Samaritan in the role of the hero, a real bad idea. Jesus, the people are not going to like that! You should be more sensitive and pastoral than to shove their enemies in their faces. And to make them the hero. That is going beyond being rude. In his clever storytelling, Jesus turns the enemy into the one who acts like a good neighbor, but also makes the enemy a neighbor to the lawyer. I wonder if this story were retold today what we would call it. The story of the Good Muslim? The parable of the Good Politician? Oh, I could go on, but some of us might start to squirm in our pews….or pulpit!

Jesus spelled out clearly who is included among our neighbors in the Sermon on the Mount when he said, “You have heard that it was said that you should love your neighbors and hate your enemies, but I say love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you that you may be children of your Father in heaven.” Love your enemy as if he were your neighbor. Now, Jesus that is just plain nuts! If you love those who love you, what great accomplishment is that. Even godless athiests can do that much! Well, Lord, I guess you have a point there.

So, I guess we will have to broaden the borders of our neighborhood. I have a suspicion that Jesus was looking at our neighborhood through the eyes of God. That means we will have to welcome the strange, different, and diverse faces that make up God’s neighborhood. But, beware my people, God’s neighborhood has mercy streets that are wide, as wide as the sea. It’s blocks are long. It’s not segregated. There is no “across the tracks.” Everyone lives right next door to us with all their strange habits, weird customs, and odd personalities. And there are no national boundaries in God’s neighborhood.

Let me introduce you to some of God’s neighbors. Take a look at some of the faces of our neighbors in God’s wild and wonderful, disturbing and delightful neighborhood.

*At this point in the sermon I presented a slide show that included the following pictures along with the song "You don't love God, if you don't love your neighbor" by Rhonda Vincent.I tried to fit some of the slides with the song lyrics

As you looked at those photos of neighbors, do you think you could love them as you love yourself? I don’t know if I could. And looking at those faces it made me wonder what that meant about my love for God.

Are those people really my neighbors? As I looked at the faces of God’s neighbors Mr. Roger’s song kept ringing in my ears as if they were the voice of Christ:

It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood
A beautiful day for a neighbor
Would you be mine?
Could you be mine?

There is more light and truth yet to break forth from God’s Holy Word.

Render Unto God: Matthew 22:15-22

2011-10-16T14:41:00.000-07:00

*This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Chiurch on Sunday, October 16, 2011.

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight O Lord, our Rock and our Redeemer.

Death and taxes…. the two proverbial certainties in life. People worry that the deficit and government providing health care will raise our taxes. Our two major political parties perpetually debate tax increases. Republicans do not want taxes raised at any cost. Democrats would rather the rich carry a greater percentage of taxation. But questions about taxes are nothing new. They are as old as the Bible. Read my lips. Taxes will follow us to the grave.

The subject of taxes is a topic for heated debate. Taxes are a powerful symbol of the clash between the interests of the individual and the interests of the society. They are the point where the personal and the political collide head on. So, it is not surprising that the subject of taxes has provoked debate, incited revolutions, and split people along political party lines. Talk of taxes raises a lot of debated questions.

Death and taxes. Jesus had to deal with these two certainties in his last days. Death and taxes are linked together in today's biblical narrative. But the question of taxes seems to have hounded the heels of Jesus from the cradle to the grave. It was a census for taxation that brought his parents to Bethlehem. And the accusation that Jesus taught the people not to pay the poll tax was thrown at him during his trial. Even Christ could not escape the question of taxes. Death and taxes. In today's text they both are headed in a collision course, with Jesus in the middle.

The instigators of this collision are a collusion of two major political groups in Jesus' day---the Pharisees and the Herodians. The Herodians were Roman puppets who supported the rule of Herod Antipas. The Pharisees were elite religious leaders who governed within the political sphere allotted to them by Rome. In any question of taxation the Herodians would have supported it. Like most Jews under Roman domination, the Pharisees would have been opposed to taxation. They were primarily out to get the one who was disturbing the peace of their power. But politics always seems to create strange bedfellows. Pharisees and Herodians. Bush and Noriega, Rumsfeld and Saddam Hussein. Yes, believe it or not, at one time, even the U.S. and Iraq were political bedfellows! When opposing political factions have a common enemy, they tend to work together.

The Pharisees and Herodians were working together to trap Jesus into making a political blunder, so as to get him out of their hair. The followers of these two groups came to Jesus one day. They spoke with a forked tongue. There was venom in their sweet words. Beneath their flattery was hidden deceit and trickery. You can almost hear the spring catch on their steel trap as they say to Jesus, "Rabbi, we know that you are a sincere person. You truthfully teach the way of God. Neither do you express personal preference toward people, or show partiality." You see, they were craftily setting up Jesus. They were buttering him up with the spread of impartiality, so they could toast him. The coalition of Pharisees and Herodians wanted Jesus to take political sides, knowing that whichever side he took would mean his goose was cooked.

What they wanted Jesus to tell the crowd was not his personal opinion, but the way of God on the issue of taxation. We might compare that scene to the Congress asking Sonia Sotomayor, "Judge, we know that you are fair, honest, truthful, unbiased, non-partisan, without pre-judgment or partiality, a wise Latina woman. So, tell us then, does an unborn child have constitutional rights?" Hear the trap go “snap!” But into the sizzling stew that Jesus was placed, add the extra ingredient of God. In other words, they didn't want just his opinion, or the law's. They wanted Jesus to pronounce the word of God on this issue. This is what God says! So, whatever he said to this politically divided crowd, they were going to give Jesus enough rope to hang himself.

Then the question with sharp teeth was thrown at Jesus: "Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not." They were ready to snag Jesus on the sharp horns of a dilemma. And Jesus was aware of their deadly intent. If he said "no", then he would find himself in hot water not just with the Herodians, but with the whole imperial Roman government. He would have been labeled a revolutionary. If he answered "yes", then Jesus would have committed suicide among his own people, who were opposed to Roman taxation.

You see, taxation was a symbol to the Jewish people of Roman oppression. A resistance movement was even formed and Jewish revolts broke out over Roman taxation. For Jesus to approve of imperial taxation would prove to be volatile. Beneath this question of taxation hid other perplexing questions like; "Can one be a faithful Jew and a loyal subject of Rome? What business has the people of God to do with secular governments? Who is to be obeyed---the Torah or Tiberius? Who is really the Lord---God or Caesar?" The Pharisees and Herodians were hoping for a simple, incriminating answer from Jesus. The trap was ready to spring.

But Jesus' drew the hunter's into their own trap. He asked them to show him the coin used in the tax. The live bomb that they placed in Jesus' hands was about to explode in their own faces. They were being called upon to produce evidence of their own sticky participation in Roman imperialism. Jesus made them participate in answering their own question by having them produce from their own pockets the evidence that would entrap them. They handed Jesus a denarius, a coin equivalent to a day's labor. The coin had their fingerprints on it. Shrewdly, Jesus was implicating them in the political dilemma in which they wanted to trap him. Jesus turned the tables on them and asked them a question, another clever move; answer a question with a question: "Whose head and title are on this coin?"

This coin, used to pay taxes, was a highly controversial symbol in first century Jewish Palestine. It was minted by Emperor Tiberius. It bore his image and the blasphemous title, "Tiberius, Caesar Augustus, the son of the divine Augustus." The image and title were an idolatrous to the Jew and a sign of Roman sovereignty. The Roman coin was such a slap in the Jewish face that during the period of several Jewish rebellions they minted their own coins as symbols of liberty. The question of whose image the coin bore had an obvious answer….Caesar.

You can almost hear the snap of the trap as Jesus' turns their question upon them. But we will have to listen closely to hear it. He says, "Well then, pay back to Caesar the things that are Caesar's and to God the things that are God's." Problem easily solved. Or not? On the surface it sounds like a rather straight forward response. His words seem to provide a black and white answer. How simple. Give to Caesar his due and to God his due. The two realms of politics and religion get sorted out and put in their nice, neat compartments. In this drawer are the "things of Caesar." And over there in that drawer are the "things of God." And what are the things of Caesar? Why, they must be things like taxes, politics, economics, the military, government policies, and issues of social welfare. Then, what are the things of God? Well, they must be things like the church, the Bible, worship, prayer, fellowship, personal piety and morality. Jesus' answer sounds like a nice, neat formula for putting religion and politics in their right and proper places. Thank God, that’s solved!

Some might like to hear Jesus' words as a good text for a sermon on the separation of church and state. We may think of Jesus as a good Anabaptist preacher proclaiming a theology of two separate kingdoms; the kingdom of God and the kingdom of the world. This is Caesar's realm over here and that is God's realm over there and never the twain shall meet. Or if we are not careful listeners, Jesus may even end up sounding like some right wing, conservative American politician or a Boy Scout master who tells his loyal troops that they should do their duty to God and country.

The movie Sergeant York is about the life of Alvin York, the most decorated soldier of World War I. He started out as a pacifist. York tried to avoid induction into the army as a conscientious objector. But, the good sergeant used these very words of Jesus about God and Caesar to determine the answer to a question he had concerning whether or not, as a Christian, he should allow himself to be drafted into the US Army in 1917. And we know the answer he magically pulled out of the hat of Jesus' statement. Ta-da! He’s in the Army now!

If we are not careful, we can become illusionists and turn this saying of Jesus into something as innocuous and non-threatening as the admonition to be both good Christians and good citizens at the same time. We can serve God, while we go off and kill for our country. We can praise God, while we wave our flags and hate our enemies. Well, didn’t Jesus say, “Render unto Caesar…”? And that is exactly what most Christians have done to this revolutionary saying of Jesus. Scout's honor!

Jesus' answer to the question of taxation is intentionally ambiguous. He is not simply straddling the fence to avoid the consequences of taking a clear position. Jesus is handing the barbed question back to us. Those who hear his answer must struggle to answer for themselves what are the things of Caesar and what are the things of God. The two halves of Jesus' answer are not to be taken as referring to two equal but separate realms that deserve our honor. By placing the two realms side by side Jesus forces us to deal with the relationship between the two. We are placed in a position of having to deal with the relationship of the private and the public, religion and politics, faith and society, the sovereignty of the state and the sovereignty of God. Jesus will not allow us to quietly slip away and hide in our private realm of personal piety. And he will not allow us to treat the two realms of God and Caesar separately. Or as someone put it; "We cannot settle questions of political life without considering the claims of God, nor seek to live a religious life oblivious to the problems of society." Jesus throws the "things of Caesar" alongside "the things of God" and causes us to wrestle with them, like Jacob wrestled with the angel.
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This struggle is intensified when we place the emphasis on the second half of Jesus' answer, where it properly deserves to go; upon rendering unto God the things that are God's. If we were to ask the common Jew of Jesus' day, "What are the things of God?" what do you think they would have answered? The answer would have been obvious…. everything! What things bear the imprint of God on them? What things are under God’s rule? What things should be examined under the light of God’s kingdom?.....everything.

As the Psalmist says, "The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof, the world and all that is in it." God's things are everything. Politics and piety. Wealth and worship. Torah and taxes. Everything. God is Sovereign of everything.

So, by placing the statement of what is God's next to what is Caesar's, Jesus is not placing together two co-equal realms that deserve our due. Rather, Jesus has thrown into question not only the things that belong to Caesar, but also the very sovereignty of Caesar. The claims of Caesar's lordship become relative alongside the absolute sovereignty of God. The "things of Caesar" are dramatically minimized by the second half of Jesus' answer. God and Caesar, like God and Mammon, are not two lords who stand on equal footing when it comes to our allegiance. God alone is Lord. What we are to render unto Caesar shrinks before the towering question of what we are to render unto God. Jesus has given an answer that explodes our neat, narrow, isolated, ideological categories. So, in the midst of our own religious and political questions, we may become as dumbfounded at what Jesus said as those who first heard his answer.

So, we need to ask ourselves the question; "What in the world are God's things?" In a world where Caesar rules, that can be a rather taxing question. Jesus' response to the Pharisees and Herodians gives us no simple black and white answer to our own contemporary religious and political questions. How do we sort out the legitimate requirements of loyalty to society, and the absolute demand of loyalty to God? Should we always obey the government? What if the government oppresses the poor and marginalized, thus dishonoring God? Was segregation a government issue or a religious and moral issue? What if the laws are unjust? Should Christians ever be involved in civil disobedience and not obey certain human laws? Were the Anabaptists right for disobeying the laws of the government? What if Caesar's immigration policies send Central Americans back to poverty, persecution, and death? Should Christians assist undocumented, or should I say “illegal,” immigrants because God commanded us to welcome the stranger in our midst?

Should we always pay our taxes? What if they are used to support wars like Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, to train assassins, and to stockpile nuclear weapons? If Caesar requires us to go to some Middle Eastern country and defend our country's interests, must we render unto Caesar his due? Should young Mennonites support their nation by going to war? Should Christians be Republicans or Democrats? Which is God’s party? Should Christians vote? Should we avoid politics altogether? What is God’s position on all these questions? Which of these issues should be left to the government? Do we, as Christians, merely answer these questions along liberal or conservative political party lines? What is your answer? Tell me, good and wise Christian. Right now, in front of this congregation. These are indeed taxing questions.

Now, wouldn't you like for me to give all of you a simple answer to each one of these questions? I'm afraid that if I did, I might find myself in the position of Jesus snagged on the horns of a dilemma deciding between two sides of an issue that are strongly held by different people in this congregation. But I am not Jesus, though I think I have some good answers to those questions. Each of us must learn to answer these questions for ourselves. Not by marching lock step with a particular political party or ideology and their selective set of moral questions and answers. Your answers must come from Christ. And I suspect that he will not give you an easy answer either, but will hand your questions back to you and say to you words something like, "Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's and to God the things that are God's."

The answers to our questions will come to us only as we struggle with Jesus' words and as we place all of our questions alongside the ultimate sovereignty of God. And the one question that will override all other questions will not be "what must I render unto Caesar?" but rather, "what must I render unto God?" And the answer is obvious…..everything.

There is more light and truth yet to break forth from God’s Holy Word.

Let's Make Peace: Philippians 4:1-9

2011-10-09T15:10:00.000-07:00

*This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite Church on Sunday, October 9, 2011

One reason I joined the Mennonite Church was because of its peace tradition. As a Southern Baptist, who was involved in peace and justice, I resonated with what I was studying about Anabaptism. I thought I had found a tradition that reflected my own passion for following the Prince of Peace. When I made the connection between Anabaptism and the Mennonites, I thought I had found a peace church. So, you can see why I was completely surprised when at my first Mennonite church we got into a conflict. And not only was this peace church in a conflict it was over, of all things….peace! “How ironic,” I thought. A peace church in conflict over peace!

That wasn’t the end of the irony for me. As Minister of Peace and Justice for Mennonite Church USA I discovered that peace was becoming less and less a factor in shaping its congregations. The peace dove seemed to be taking flight….away from our church! And as I studied the battlefield of Mennonite Church history, I discovered that it was strewn with the bodies of the shot and wounded from countless church fights and splits. So, I asked myself a question, which I turned into an awarded article for the Mennonite Weekly Review entitled, “When is a peace church no longer a peace church?” My question arose from observing a church conflicted about peace and with many congregations simply conflicted.

Conflict in the church is nothing new. We might be better off if we considered conflict to be normal and natural for congregations. It was certainly part of the early church. In his letter to the Philippians the apostle Paul addresses a conflict. Two women, Euodia and Synteche, were at odds with one another. They were co-workers, who were “striving together” with Paul, Clement, and the rest of Paul’s co-workers in the gospel. Now, Paul says that they are “striving against each other.” These two women were significant leaders in the church at Philippi.

Paul urged Euodia and Synteche to be “of the same mind in the Lord.” He called upon his “loyal companion,” possibly Epaphroditus who was the messenger for this letter, to help the two women leaders with their conflict. It appears that their dis-ease with one another was infecting the whole church. These women played a key role in the unity of the church. It seems that they had forgotten their common ground in Christ. What a negative impact their conflict made on the church. How sad. Over two thousand years have passed and though they would never have imagined it, their names will be forever remembered as two Christians who did not get along.

There is a thick silence and empty space in the text concerning their conflict, as thick and heavy as the silence we experienced last Sunday evening. I wonder what they were quarreling about? Was it over weighty issues or trivial differences? Were their differences personal or over church matters? Did they ever solve their differences? We don’t know. The text does not tell us. It is silent.

The silence of the text gives us imaginative space to creatively wonder. Can you imagine the apostle sitting down at a table in the house church at Philippi with Euodia, Syntheche, and possibly Epaphroditus, to talk about their differences. The meeting starts off in prickly silence. No one wants to start the conversation. The air is heavy. Let’s listen in as they finally begin to talk.

Paul: Okay, who’s going to go first?
Euodia: Well, I guess I’ll just jump in with both feet. It all started when Synteche told Clement that she didn’t think I was a good church leader. Instead of coming and telling me face-to-face, she went behind my back and talked to….
Synteche: Now, wait a minute….It may be difficult for me to talk to people. But, it’s because I’ve been burned in the past. And this was a difficult issue. It had to do with how you understand the church and what it means to be a leader and….
Euodia: Yeah, but you think a church leader should cater to the differing needs of every member of our house church and I think a leader should follow their gifts of the Spirit, like Paul once taught us, right Paul?
Paul: Now, sisters, let’s give each other a chance to speak from our hearts and carefully listen to one another.
Synteche: I agree. Euodia never listens to the people. She’s always talking about how the Spirit gives us freedom in Christ, especially women. I think that there needs to be more order and following the traditions of our elders. Women can be leaders, but we must defer to the wisdom of the men. And….
Euodia: Hold on! Your way only alienates the new people that come to visit our house church. They know nothing about the “tradition of the elders.” How can we attract new Gentiles if all we do is talk about our Jewish ancestry, traditions, foods, and families? They won’t come back. We will just be a dying house church made up of a bunch of old Jewish Christians if we keep this up!
Epaphroditus: But, Euodia, we must respect the traditions of our elders.
Euodia: Who asked you, Epaphro! You don’t see the young people leaving the church and…
Syntheche: And you don’t see the importance of singing in Hebrew or observing the Passover or…
Euodia: Paul, can’t you jump in here and tell old Syn that these things have been done away with in Christ. Give me a break! We just have different visions of the church and worship and what a leader is supposed to do. Sheeesh. ( Paul leaves) Paul, can’t you straighten this out….Paul?....Paul?....where is that man going?
Epaphroditus: I think he went out to get some aspirin.

I wonder what the conflict was about between Euodia and Synteche. We don’t know for sure. We just know that the church today can be in conflict over differences of worship styles, understandings of the church, leadership, and pastoral roles, theology, ethical issues, views of women, ethnic backgrounds, family connections, and on and on the list goes. All these diverse forms of conflict over differences also make me wonder how we can make peace within the church.

Making peace within the church requires Christians to act in “unnatural” ways. This may sound strange, but being a Christian is an unnatural act! Iris and I have a wonderful friend, Michelle, a Mennonite leader who is not from Mennonite background, but comes to the Mennonite Church from the African-American tradition. She expresses her pacifism in a rather unique way. She will tell people straight forward about her view of nonviolence like this: “I’m a pacifist by conviction and not by nature. SO, DON’T TEST ME!” I love it!

Being a pacifist or peacemaker is not a natural act. It’s not something that simply comes with having a Mennonite name or even by adopting the peace tradition. Just because kittens are born in a refrigerator, it doesn’t make them ice cubes! Christian virtues are formed and nurtured through Christian practices. They don’t come naturally. So, in order to make peace in the church we will be called upon to perform some rather “unnatural acts.”

Experiencing joy is not simply a natural expression of being a Christian. Paul commands the Philippian Christians: Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice. How do you command someone to be joyful? How can the Philippians rejoice when two of their leaders are at each other’s throats and its impacting the congregation? Maybe if we rejoiced more, we would be less inclined to fight with one another or snarl at someone we don’t agree with. But, I thought rejoicing had to do with our natural feelings of being happy. How can we rejoice when steam is rising from our collar? Rejoicing in the Lord and at all times may be a nice happy tune for children to sing (Rejoice in the Lord always and again I say rejoice), but what about when there is tension, anxiety, sickness, troubles, persecution, or conflict? How can we rejoice then?

Here’s an amazing example of rejoicing. Christians in many South American and African countries have for generations faced persecution, poverty, denial of their rights, and have struggled just to survive. And yet, they are some of the most joyful and jubilant Christians anywhere. Why? Because they are a naturally joyful people? No. Is it because they don’t have differences and conflicts like we do? No. It’s because they have found a common reason to rejoice in Christ Jesus. Paul says, “Rejoice in the Lord,” not in our circumstances or what’s going on around us. Ours is a joy that transcends normal human experiences. It is unnatural. It is nurtured by Christian practices like music and testimony and bible study and prayer and hospitality. And when you rejoice together, conflict and differences begin to lose their power.

Another virtue that nurtures peace within the church is gentleness. Like joy, gentleness can be an unnatural act. Gentleness is a fruit of the Spirit. And like fruit it takes nurturing with sunshine, water, and sometimes a little dung! It is a virtue formed in the church through nurturing practices. That is why I will be proposing that we work on a covenant at Zion that calls on each of us to interpersonal practices that nurture gentleness. Gentleness is a character quality of the meek, who will inherit the earth, not by their power, force, or violence, but by their ability to relate to others with patience, tenderness, kindness, and humility. Gentleness does not mean that you let people walk over you like a doormat, express no anger, or rule out discipline. Gentleness is bridled strength, conviction, and courage.

Paul tells the church, “Let your gentleness be known to everyone.” That doesn’t mean that they take out an ad in the paper or put up a billboard advertising their gentleness. It does mean that the word gets out about a Christian congregation that exhibits gentleness, just as the word gets out about churches that are in conflict. The word got out about Euodia and Syntheche’s conflict even as far as to us who are gathered here this morning on the other side of the world and over two thousand years later! I pray that the word that gets out about Zion is the word “gentleness.” It is a quality of a church at peace.

Anxiety works against making peace in the church. Anxiety often helps to produce conflict. When a congregation is anxious, uncertain, and worrying about something there is a human tendency to overreact or project our anxiety onto others. Peter Steinke, a church leader who understands church dynamics, says, “Anxious church families become locked in emotional reactivity. This is quite evident when they fight openly and angrily…” Steinke’s words may need to be translated for a more passive-aggressive Mennonite audience as: “Emotional reactivity is quite evident when they exhibit noninvolvement, helplessness, procrastination, stubbornness, and complaining behind-the-scenes.” Anxiety is the toxic elixir that works against making peace in the church.

Paul tells us, “Don’t worry. Pray instead.” Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. Prayer is a church practice that helps to heal anxiety, particularly prayer as a form of letting go. In prayer we can let go of our worries and anxieties as we pray, “Thy will be done” or “Lord, take this burden from me” or “Lord, I forgive that person who has done wrong to me or someone I care about.” Prayer places our worries into God’s hands so we can be free from taking our anxiety up again and using it against a brother or sister in Christ. And when we add “thanksgiving” to our prayers, we can turn our attitudes from sour to sweet. But, this all takes practice. It doesn’t come naturally.

Neither does positive thinking. Positive thinking? Oh, don’t give me that Norman Vincent Peale, Robert Schuller, and Joel Osteen nonsense. I have gagged over some of their syrupy-be-happy-attitudes messages. Probably it’s because that’s all they seem to preach about; a gospel devoid of cross, tragedy, human pain, sin and suffering. And yet, there is a place for positive thinking in making peace within the church.

Surpisingly, it is the apostle Paul who encourages positive thinking. He says, “Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there be any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” Sounds like positive thinking to me.
Imagine what a difference this attitude would have made in the relationship between Euodia and Synteche. What if instead of shooting one another down and drawing their swords of difference, they released the peace dove of mutual affirmation, shared their commendable traits, rejoiced in one another’s excellence, praised God for their different gifts, and thought upon how they needed one another to build up the body of Christ.

Thinking positively is not natural. When someone questions my Christianity or doesn’t appreciate the gifts I offer the church or struts out their negative attitudes about me, my gut reaction is to fight back, get revenge, or tell a friend how rotten that person is. My first reaction is not to think positively. Almost instinctively, I’m ready to drag them down into the gutter. Thinking positively, trying to understand where another person is coming from, looking at the good side of a dog that just bit you, is not easy. It takes practice; church practices that help form us into more positive, Christ-like people.

Or making peace may take some good examples to follow. Paul says, “Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me.” At first it may sound a bit egocentric and prideful to say, “Hey, you want to know how to make peace, get along, and develop these kinds of virtues. Then look at me.” Paul often presents himself as an example for Christians to follow. Whatever you may think about Paul offering himself as a prime example of Christian virtue, the fact is, we need good Christian examples to follow in order to make peace in the church. We need leaders who will model attitudes of gentleness and kindness. We need worship leaders who will assist us in expressing celebration and joy in the Lord. We need praying people to model how we let go of our anxiety and anger and show us how to forgive and make peace with one another. We need Christians with the gift of thinking positively and hopefully, even in the midst of conflict and chaos. We need peacemakers who model peace, reconciliation, justice, and forgiveness not only across the oceans in some foreign land, but right here within our own congregations. We need role models that have developed these virtues through church practices and can exhibit them for us, because they are so unnatural.

My wife, Iris, called me this past Friday at the church office right at this very point of writing my sermon. She was so joyful she wanted to share with me some good news. She told me that it had just been announced that her friend, Leymah Gbowee, who was with her in Eastern Mennonite University’s peace studies program, had received the 2011 Nobel Peace Prize! Praise be to God! Leymah, a Liberian peacemaker, led a movement for women’s rights, halted forcible conscription of children for Liberia’s 14 year war, and ended the bloody Liberian war that was tearing her country apart. Her story is documented in the film “Pray the Devil Back to Hell.”

What virtues had to be nurtured in Leymah in order take on such an amazing peacemaker’s task in the context of a national conflict? Her strength of character “was evident in 2003 when she led hundreds of women to Monrovia's City Hall, demanding an end to the war. ‘We the women of Liberia will no more allow ourselves to be raped, abused, misused, maimed and killed,’ she shouted. ‘Our children and grandchildren will not be used as killing machines and sex slaves!’
The women protested until the dictator Charles Taylor agreed to a meeting. Under Leymah's leadership, they gave the three warring factions three days to deliver an unconditional ceasefire, an intervention force and for the government and rebels to sit down and talk. They got what they asked for and soon after, the Accra Peace Accord was signed in Ghana.” Leymah brought peace to her nation! Praise be to God!

How could Leymah bring peace in such an entrenched and violent conflict? She says her faith helped in her peace work. And I suspect she had nurtured certain Christian virtues like courage, patience, joy in the midst of pain, thinking positively about justice and peace in the midst of tragedy and heartbreak. Leymah will continue to be a model for peacemakers around the world. She will leave a legacy of peace for the children of Liberia. She will be remembered around the world as a peacemaker.

We need such models of peacemaking within the church. We need people who will model gentleness, joy, letting go of anxiety, and nurturing positive ways of thinking and relating with others. Otherwise, our legacy could end up like that of Euodia and Synteche. We could be remembered for our conflicts, instead of for making peace.
If we become peacemakers within the church, then the God of peace with be with us. Paul says that if we keep on doing these things that we have learned, seen, heard, and practiced, like gentleness, patience, kindness, letting go of anxiety, praying, thinking positively, and more, “the God of peace will be with us”

The God of peace and the peace of God will be with us; the peace of God that passes all human understanding. Why is the peace of God beyond human understanding? Because it is not natural! It is peace that comes as a gift of the Spirit, not our own human effort. The peace of God comes from the God of peace; the God of peace who ends conflicts around the world; the God of peace who ends struggles between church leaders and members that don’t see eye to eye; the God of peace who is with us, even now.

I leave you with these words that Ervin Stutzman, Executive Director of Mennonite Church USA, just recently wrote to the Mennonite Church concerning conflicts with the church:

Since we are a peace church, we must continue to practice ways to build peace in the face of conflict. May God enable us to that end.

There is more light and truth yet to break forth from God’s Holy Word.

Shall We Press On? Philippians 3:4b-14

2011-10-02T15:09:00.000-07:00

This sermon was preached at Zion Mennonite, Canby, OR on World Communion Sunday, October 2, 2011. The service included international music, my udu drum for the prelude, an illustrated sermon (with my cartoons), communion with Hebrew blessings, Bob Dylan's song "Pressing On" and Mavis Staples rockin' with "Keep Your Eyes on the Prize."

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.

You wouldn’t know it by looking at me today, but when I was in seminary I used to run four miles every day! The seminary campus where I ran was located in Mill Valley in the San Francisco Bay Area. Morning fog poured over the mountains like soup. Sunshine sparkled on the water with bobbing sailboats. I could see San Francisco from the hill where I went to daily classes. My jog took me along the shores of the bay along a stretch of road with some hills and dips in the road.

Since I was never very athletic, jogging was a real discipline for me. I had to work hard to get up to four miles. By the second mile I could feel the burn in my legs. Sweat began to drip. I was looking forward to getting this run over. My goal was to get back to my apartment and the prize of rest. But, near the end of my four miles I had to jog over a very steep hill. Jogging on flat ground was hard enough. At the point I was most tired, I had to muster every ounce of strength I had left in me to make it up and over that hill. There was no way around that hill. I had to literally strain forward and press on toward my goal. Then, I was home free! Hallelujah!

The apostle Paul uses running as an image for encouraging the Philippian Christians to continued faithfulness. Running a race is one of Paul’s favorite metaphors for living the Christian life in community. Paul draws his images from the Greek games. It is a rich metaphor for our personal and congregational life, though like any metaphor it has its limits. Paul uses various elements of running to encourage Christians. Running involves rigorous training, exercise, and mental preparation. Weights are used in training, and then discarded for the race. Runners compete against each other and run to win. Their goal is the finish line. The winner of the race receives a prize of a wreath or crown of leaves.

In our text for today Paul encourages the Philippian Christians to “press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.” Since the Christian life is like a race it is forward looking, and future oriented. The goal is always ahead of us, not behind us. We have not yet reached our destination. There may be a steep hill ahead that will require every last ounce of our energy. So, press on!

What a powerful message for the church! But, it may catch us in the second mile of a four mile run. God may be calling is into the future, but we may be in the midst of feeling the pain from sore legs. Our race may have enough hills and valleys already to make us weary. The finish line looks too far away. We may just want to sit down and rest or even turn back.

We may be like Charlie Chainedtothepast. Charlie lives in the past among his dusty memories and rusted accomplishments. Charlie remembers how the church used to be and wishes it would return to those good old days, which were probably not all that good. Charlie’s theme song is sung with a longing sigh “If only….” He learned all those Bible stories in Sunday School when he was kid, so he doesn’t need to attend anymore. He can stay home or sit in the church building during Sunday School while his children get their own inoculation against any further growth in the knowledge of Christ. And Charlie has a hard time letting go of old hurts and bad experiences. They cling to him like static socks right out of the dryer. Charlie will bring up about how so-and-so did such-and-such five years ago. He can’t seem to let go of the past. Sorry, Charlie, the past is long gone! Forget what lies behind! Press on!

Could it be that some of us are like Granny Glancingbackwards? She’s trying to press on, but most of her life is behind her. Granny wants to press on, but there’s not much track left in front of her to run! Most of her reference points are in the past; old ways of doing church, traditional music, the way things have always been. She has a hard time welcoming all this new stuff that attracts young people; technology, e-mail, cell phones, videos, contemporary music, multicultural ministry. “Can’t things just be like they used to be?,” says Granny. And Granny’s seen about everything new that’s come down the pike. So, why try something new? We already did that a long time ago. Sorry Granny, as Bob Dylan once sang, “The times they are a changin’” Forget what lies behind! Press on!

For some of us the problem is not so much the past as it is the present, like Sally Stuckinthepresent. This young mom is so wrapped up in frenetic activity of what’s going on in her life, she has no time to rehash the past, let alone think about the future. There’s the three kids, a part-time job, soccer practice, baseball games, cleaning the house, camping, hunting, gardening, and on and on the list goes. And where, pray tell is your husband, Sally? Watching sports and eating chips! We’re lucky if Sally shows up at church on Sunday. There’s no time for quiet, meditation, nurturing her inner spirit. Press on toward the high mark of our calling? Oh, that reminds me that I need to make several calls before I run off to the grocery store and drop off….Sorry, Sally, there’s more to life than running on that hamster wheel! Jesus said, “I have come that you might have life and have it abundantly.” Strain forward! Press on!

Sam Steponoverem is a future-oriented, goal-oriented person. He’s the envy of every company executive. He will try new things, change things around, take some real risks. His focus is on the future, not the past or the present. Sam will do whatever it takes to move things forward, project out into the future. “Enough of the pettiness, short-sightedness, and navel gazing. Let’s roll up our sleeves and get to work on building something new,” says Sam. Sam would just as soon leave all the turtles, stick-in-the-muds, and stragglers behind in leading the church forward. “Like the pastor says, press on, people!” Sam affirms. Except, Sam tends to avoid getting people onboard before the train leaves the station and sometimes walks over people’s feelings as he strains toward the future. Strain forward, Sam. But, bring others along with you. Then, press on!

Enough about us. The goal is far enough ahead for all of us to change, lay aside every weight and sin that drags us down, turn our minds and hearts around, get back on track, use our gifts, and grow into the likeness of Christ. So, shall we press on? We have been called to “press on toward the mark for the prize of our high calling in Jesus.”

Our goal is not just pie-in-the-sky-bye-and-bye. Breaking the ribbon at the finish line isn’t just about dying and going to heaven. Our goal is to live out the high calling of Christ in this life as in the next, on earth as in heaven. Our high and heavenly calling to live in the here and now as if the reign of God has already arrived, as if heaven has kissed the earth, as if the lion has laid down with the lamb, as if Christ were already present among us, as if we have already been reconciled to one another and God, as if there is good news for the poor, release for the captives, freedom for the oppressed. That’s what our high calling looks like. That is our goal. That is our prize. So, press on people! Press on!

If any people and movement models for us running the race and pressing on toward the prize, even against all odds, it’s the story of African-Americans and the Southern Freedom movement. What a fitting title to the PBS series on the Southern Freedom movement; Eyes on the Prize, an image drawn from the pages of the Bible.

My wife, Iris, and I have had the privilege of knowing Dr. Vincent Harding, a neighbor and friend of Martin Luther King Jr., who wrote his Riverside speech against the Vietnam War. He was a church historian, a former Mennonite pastor of Woodlawn Mennonite Church in Chicago, and founded the interracial Mennonite House in Atlanta in 1961, ahead of his time in race relations in the church. Dr. Harding was a senior academic advisor for Eyes on the prize. He was part of the Southern Freedom movement and had to press on, even when he got resistance to his work from within the Mennonite church.

Dr. Harding has written eloquently about his own people chained in slavery as servants to whites. And yet…they pressed on toward a higher calling of freedom. Bearing the heavy weight of Jim Crow laws, segregated lunch counters, separate fountains, separate neighborhoods, discrimination and disdain. And yet….they pressed on toward a higher calling of equality. Feet weary marching in the streets. Facing snarling dogs and firehoses. And yet….they pressed on…they pressed on, keeping their eyes on the prize!

The title of the PBS series was drawn from the song, “Keep Your Eyes on the Prize.” At the end of the service you will hear a bit of Mavis Staples singing these words:

Well, the only chains that we can stand
Are the chains of hand in hand
Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on
Got my hand on the freedom plow
Wouldn't take nothing for my journey now
Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on!
Hold on, (hold on), hold on, (hold on)
Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on!

Brothers and sisters in Christ, now is not the time to give up. Now is not the time for turning back. Though the race has been long and there is a steep hill ahead of us to climb, we must press on! No time for rubbernecking over all the mistakes we have made in the past. Forget what lies behind. Don’t let it weigh you down, brothers and sisters. Keep your eyes on the prize. Press on! Press on!

There is more light and truth yet to break forth from God’s Holy Word.

Is the Lord with us or not? Exodus 17:1-7

2011-09-25T14:46:00.000-07:00

This sermon was preached by Leo Hartshorn at Zion Mennonite Church, Hubbard, Oregon on September 25, 2011

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer

I’m a bit surprised and perplexed that I am an interim pastor of this congregation after 9 1/2 years out of pastoral ministry. And even more so, since I have known of this congregation’s struggles over the past two years! You see, I left almost 30 years of pastoral ministry in 2002 with a sense of relief from the toll that leading struggling, and sometimes contentious and conflicted congregations, can take on a pastor. At the same time, I wondered if God was with me in my decision to leave pastoral ministry, since this same God called me onto this wilderness journey in the first place! Was it bad luck (or good luck?) that after seven years with Mennonite Mission Network my department was cut leaving me wandering in the wilderness without a job, disoriented, complaining and again wondering if God was with me or not. Then, I get this call about becoming an interim pastor for Zion Mennonite Church….

So, as I read this lectionary text in preparation for today’s sermon and I couldn’t help but notice that the relationship between Moses and the children of Israel was similar to that of a pastor and a congregation. How’s that, you say? Well, our story starts out with the Israelites being described as…. now get this…. a “congregation.” You’ve got to be kidding me! The Israelites are a “congregation”? Lord, have mercy on the pastor of that congregation. And the next thing it says about this congregation is that they quarreled with their pastor! Uh oh! This is not a good sign for my first sermon back in pastoral ministry at Zion! Or maybe it is.

I’ll have to admit that I identify with Moses in a lot of ways. Moses started out as a pastor, or should I say a shepherd. He tended the sheep of his father-in-law Jethro near Horeb, the mountain of God. The term “pastor” comes from the work of tending sheep, though some people might consider being referred to as sheep as a baaaaaad idea. Shepherding is used throughout the Bible as an image for leading people, like a pastor leads a congregation. Even the pope and his bishops carry with them a crozier, a shepherd’s staff, as a symbol their pastoral office. Ultimately Jesus is our Good Shepherd, even though there are shepherds or pastors who serve congregations through his leadership.

Some would say that Moses was a shepherd as part of his divine preparation for being pastor of a congregation. As a pastor Moses tended the flock of Israelites guiding them along the way, pulling them away from the dangerous places with his shepherd’s crook, feeding them when hungry in green pastures, leading them beside the still waters. Some experienced pastors might say that Moses also learned how to avoid stepping in the sheep “droppings” the flock left along their journey. I can identify with the image of a shepherd as the leader of a congregation.

I can also identify with the fact that Moses, as a pastor, was not perfect. He started life with a mixed up identity as an immigrant from Egypt, out of place, not knowing who he was, not knowing his own people, short tempered, a murderer, a man with a lot of excuses, yet with a passion for justice. Moses was initially reluctant to lead his own people, as I suspect some of you are reluctant to lead at Zion. Maybe there were some cantankerous sheep in Jethro’s flock that Moses would just as soon have turned into lamb chops!

Like many pastors Moses wasn’t good at organization or delegating responsibility. I can identify. Jethro, an experienced sheep herder, had to teach him how to organize the people and delegate tasks to be more efficient.

And Moses was not your eloquent preacher. Honestly, this guy had a problem with public speaking. He even warned God, “Gawd, I is sl-o-o-o-o-w of speech and I, uh…. uh…. I don’t talk too gooder either wise.” Some even suggest that Moses was possibly a stutterer. I mean, he was not your prime candidate for the church pulpit. And what does God say? “You’re just the pastor I want for my people! But…. on second thought, you might want your brother Aaron to preach for you.”

Besides that, Moses had a hard time obeying God’s Word. In another version of our story in the book of Numbers Moses was commanded by God to speak to the rock and water would come forth. Instead, Moses struck the rock twice. Moses was not a perfect pastor. That’s why I can identify with him.

At the same time, I can identify with the congregation of Israel. God promises to bring us to a land flowing with milk and honey and here we are with sand in our teeth, lips cracked and dry without any lip balm or mouthwash. Sheeesh! We could use a little Dasani or Aquafina right about now to wash down that dry-as-toast-bread that came down from the sky the other day. Bread and water, now really, that’s what they serve prisoners in solitary confinement. We were better off in Egypt with our gardens of cucumbers and melons and tomatoes enough to share with other members of the congregation. Get real, Moses! Our congregation was better off before you became our pastor.

Why did you bring us out here in the wilderness, just so we would end up in the bone orchard? Do you even know where we are going, Shepherd of Lostville? Didn’t you check Mapquest or consider bringing along a GPS before you thought about this so-called Freedom from Egypt project you hatched up for our congregation? What kind of leader are you anyhow?

I have to be honest. Who wouldn’t complain in those circumstances? I watched a movie entitled Thirst the other night about 4 young people whose vehicle broke down in the desert. And for over one excruciating hour I watched them die of dehydration and the wolves pick their bones. Hey, I’m with the children of Israel. Moses, get us outta here! The wilderness is no piece of cake….or glass of water. I can identify with the congregation of Israel.

Then again, I can identify with Moses. Sometimes pastors become easy targets for the stones of a congregation. Pastor Moses became an easy target, a fish in a bucket for the frustrations, anxieties, and differences within his own congregation. I’ve been in Moses’ sandals when he said to his congregation, “Why do you quarrel with me? Hey, you were all ‘Yeah, help us Moses, we want you to lead us out of Egypt’ when the whip was stinging your back. If you want to blame someone, blame God for bringing you out here in the wilderness.”

I’ve been in Moses’ Berkenstocks when he cried out to God, possibly pulling his hair at the same time, “What shall I do with this people! They are ready to take me to a Rock concert, and I don’t mean to listen to some hard music.” Get my tune?

I imagine that the complaints that came from the congregation to pastor Moses sounded something like this: “Pastor, some people in the congregation aren’t happy with your leadership. They say that you have led us out into the wilderness to die like a bunch of dogs. And we can’t ignore what people are saying, can we? They might withhold their offerings or threaten to leave.”

In a former congregation where I was pastor I used to refer to these invisible people as the “church ghosts.” These ghosts never spoke for themselves and would never bring their complaints to anyone face-to-face. They slithered around behind the scenes, like sssssnakes in the desert. But, they were always served by “ghost whisperers,” people who translate their ghostly messages and gladly pass along their complaints and objections to the church leaders, who would then pass them on to yours truly. Does Zion have any ghosts haunting these hallowed halls? Any “ghost whisperers” who like to pass on their messages? If it does, Zion needs to exorcise these ghosts, not exercise, in order to be a healthy congregation.

The Hebrew word used to describe the congregation’s complaint against Moses is the same word for “lawsuit.” Lord, have mercy! I am aware that broken pastor-congregation relations are not all that unusual, but this extreme takes the cake! I have heard of congregations that have actually brought lawsuits against their pastors. The children of Israel were ready to try Moses and have him stoned! Let me tell you, pastors can become the scapegoat for a congregation’s problems and anxieties. I’ll name it, if you claim it!

This idea of laying one’s own sins and problems on someone else is reflected in the ritual of the scapegoat or Azazel in the Old Testament. The priest laid the sins of the people on the head of a goat, which was led off into the wilderness bearing their sin. This scapegoat concept is the dynamic at work in the crucifixion of Jesus, who bears the sins of the people, that is, he becomes a victim of the violence, anger, frustrations, and anxieties of the people.

Rene Girard, a literary critic and philosopher, has proposed what is known as a “scapegoat mechanism,” to explain this widespread principle whereby human communities tend to place blame for their own violence, frustrations, divisions, and differences upon a scapegoat.

This dynamic is also known as “projection,” a theory developed by Freud. It is a defense mechanism whereby someone projects their own feelings, problems, and anxieties onto someone else.

Family systems theory also recognizes this phenomenon. When applied to congregations, the anxieties within the church family system are projected onto the pastor. Peter Steinke, an internationally respected therapist and educator in church family systems, even uses our story of the Israelites complaints against Moses to illustrate how a congregation’s anxiety turns into grumbling and division and is projected onto the leader.

Although this congregational dynamic is pervasive, this is not to say congregations never have legitimate issues concerning their pastors. Nor do these dynamics excuse a leader’s own inadequacies and problems. As I said earlier, pastors are not perfect….and neither are congregations. Placing blame for problems, troubles, and conflicts solely on the shoulders of a pastor or a congregation is not healthy.

When we find ourselves wandering in the wilderness and our resources run out, we may wonder if the Lord is with us or not. When the children of Israel were without water they complained about Moses and in so doing …. listen to this…. they “tested the Lord.” The problem was not simply that they had problems with Moses or the lack of water. They had problems with God. Their real problem was that they were testing God by their attitudes and actions.

Whether or not the children of Israel actually verbalized this question, the congregation raised this sour question by their attitudes and actions: “Is the Lord with us or not?”

Again, I can identify with the congregation. If I was dying of thirst, I would raise some thorny questions. Remember, I watched that movie. To be honest, I have raised the question of the Israel not only by attitude and action, but in loud cries to the heavens. When I was forced to resign from my home congregation by some underhanded actions of the leadership and ended up spending 3 years out of pastoral ministry, after 5 years of preparation for ministry and only two years in the congregation, I questioned the heavens: “Is the Lord with me or not?” When leading another congregation through a various divisions and conflicts over 6 years, at some low moments I queried the heavens, “Is the Lord with me or not?” And don’t you know that as I wandered in the wilderness over these past two years in Oregon without a job, starting my retirement, resigned to “the fact” the church ministry was over for me, more than once I asked the question with a bitter taste in my mouth: “Is the Lord with me or not?” I’ll name it and I’ll claim it.

But, during each of these wilderness journeys I had forgotten that eventually and unexpectedly a door opened, manna dropped from heaven, and water spouted from a rock. I can identify with the congregation of Israel who had forgotten that God had led them with a miraculous and mighty hand out of Egypt, had opened the Red Sea to pass through, and rained bread from heaven. Would not God provide water for them to drink? Would not God finally get them to the Promised Land?

Sometimes congregations need to remember from where they came and find a new direction. When we come to these times of trouble and transition, we need to remember that God will provide for us as God has provided for us in the past. Has the Lord been with us or not?

How long has this congregation been around? A couple years? Over a hundred years? Let me turn the question of the children of Israel on its head and ask you: Has the Lord been with us or not? During this long journey hasn’t God provided for our needs? Haven’t we seen the power of God’s hand to deliver at work? Has the Lord been with us or not? Haven’t we wandered in the wilderness? Haven’t you made it through church conflicts and difficult situations with other pastors? Has the Lord been with us or not? Haven’t we tasted the bread of heaven? Hasn’t our thirst for life been quenched with water from unexpected places? Has the Lord been with us or not? Haven’t we been able to find new direction when we lost our way? Haven’t our leaders stepped out before us and we followed them as if God were leading us? Has the Lord been with us or not?

If the Lord has been with us, then our pastors and elders will need to step out ahead of the congregation. The Lord said to Moses, “Go on ahead of people, and take some of the elders with you.” What a timely word for Zion! The pastor and elders of the congregation are to go ahead of the people. Isn’t that what leadership is all about….stepping out ahead of the people, leading them into their future. Their role is not to simply fill an office or support the status quo of things or keep the sheep grazing in one spot or allowing them to get stuck in the heat of conflict and complaints, but rather to “go on ahead of the people.” Show them the way forward. Learn the terrain of the future. Don’t just dwell in the past. That will get you stuck in the wilderness. Lead the congregation forward to Rock of all Ages. Lead the people away from Massah and Meribah, those places literally named “testing” and “quarreling.” Lead the people to the water of life, even Jesus Christ, where they can be refreshed for the journey ahead.

So, as we journey toward our new future, let us be assured that “the Lord is with us!” I’ll name it, if you claim it.

The Lord was with Moses, who was not the perfect pastor, but sought to listen to God and lead the people forward

The Lord was with the children of Israel, who were not a perfect people, even as they were complaining, quarreling, and testing God.

The Lord is with our leaders, pastors and elders, who are not perfect, as they go ahead of the people, leading the way.

The Lord is with this congregation, which is not perfect, yet stands firm on the Rock and drinks from the Water of Life. Amen?

This past week I stood with your former pastor, Todd Lehmann, on the other side of those doors and together we looked at the wall of pictures of your former pastors. Some have stern, serious faces, looking like they were weaned on dill pickle juice. Others with half-smiles or grins, expressing joy, even though some of them weren’t even getting paid! Can you imagine that! Serving God without getting a dime for their time? I don’t think I would have been smiling! Some were better pastors than others, some uneducated farmers, some highly educated ministers, some pastors chosen by lot maybe resenting the fact that they were called to be pastors by what seemed more a “luck of the draw” than God’s call, some leaving their posts before “the fullness of time,” none of them perfect, all too human, like Moses….. And yet…. “The Lord was with them.”

On another day I walked outside to get a breath of fresh air and looked out over rows of tombstones of former members of this congregation…. I imagined you all here united with them in spirit, a communion of saints, a cloud of witnesses together...similar in so many ways, and I don’t mean “dead,” some of them probably better Christians than others, some wishing they were out hunting, fishing, or farming rather than listening to a dry-as-a-cracker sermon, some with hopes and dreams for this congregation, just like you, none of them perfect, all too human, like the children of Israel….and yet….“The Lord was with them.”

Now, here we are, still making our way through the wilderness. Not yet arriving in the Promised Land…sometimes complaining, sometimes quarrelling, sometimes not trusting God with our futures, sometimes faithful, sometimes hopeful, none of us perfect, all too human…and yet…and yet….”The Lord is with us.”

There is more light and truth yet to break forth from God’s Holy Word.

Drumming for Peace at Locust Park, Canby OR

2011-09-23T11:54:00.000-07:00

Leo Hartshorn will be performing

Drumming for Peace

Joyful Noise

Saturday, September 24, 2011
between 12:30 and 1 pm

for Bridging Cultures
Locust Park
Canby, Or

Drumming for Peace at Oregon World Relief Festival

2011-09-14T15:14:00.001-07:00

Saturday, October 8, 2011

7:30 am - 3:30 pm

Leo Hartshorn will be peforming Drumming for Peace at 2 pm

Linn County Fair & Expo Center
Albany, Oregon

Proceeds benefit

Free Admission
Free Parking

New Interim Pastor at Zion

2011-09-06T10:26:00.000-07:00

After two years in semi-retirement and nine years away from the pastorate (seven in denominational work), I will be interim pastor for Zion Mennonite Church in Hubbard, Oregon starting this Sunday, September 11, 2011. A new adventure awaits!

The Healing Pole

2011-08-09T11:09:00.000-07:00

*This sermon was originally preached at North Baltimore Mennonite Church, April 3, 2003

From Mount Hor they set out by the way to the Red Sea, to go around the land of Edom; and the people became impatient on the way. And the people spoke against God and against Moses, "Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we loathe this worthless food." Then the LORD sent fiery serpents among the people, and they bit the people, so that many people of Israel died. And the people came to Moses, and said, "We have sinned, for we have spoken against the LORD and against you; pray to the LORD, that he take away the serpents from us." So Moses prayed for the people. And the LORD said to Moses, "Make a fiery serpent, and set it on a pole; and every one who is bitten, when he sees it, shall live." So Moses made a bronze serpent, and set it on a pole; and if a serpent bit any man, he would look at the bronze serpent and live. Numbers 21:4-9

And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life." For God so loved the world that God gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God sent the Son into the world, not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him. Whoever believes in him is not condemned; whoever does not believe is condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For every one who does evil hates the light, and does not come to the light, lest their deeds should be exposed. 21 But whoever does what is true comes to the light, that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been wrought in God.John 3: 14-21

The medical profession has a rather strange symbol for healing. It is two snakes intertwined around a pole with two wings at the top. This therapeutic symbol is known as the caduceus. The symbol was appropriated from the Greek god Hermes, the messenger of the gods. According to Greek mythology Hermes came across two fighting snakes. He threw his magic wand at them. They became entangled and stopped fighting. The staff of Aesclepius is similar. Aesclepius was a physician living around 1200 B.C.E. who became the god of medicine. His staff was a single serpent intertwined around a pole. Isn’t it a bit odd that venomous and deadly snakes wrapped around a pole became symbols of healing and life?

The writer of the gospel of John doesn’t seem to think that a deadly snake lifted up on a pole is an odd symbol. He uses this symbol to point to the paradoxical death-dealing and life-giving cross of Christ. John draws an analogy between the lifting up of Jesus on the cross and Moses’ lifting up of a serpent on a pole in the wilderness. The comparison of Jesus on the cross to a snake on a pole is odd enough. What makes it even stranger is the fact that for John the lifting up of Jesus on a humiliating cross is his exaltation and our salvation. Death has been transformed into life.

In order to better understand the comparison of Jesus on a cross to a snake on a pole, we need to walk back through the pages of the bible and sit ourselves down in the wilderness with the Israelites and Moses. As you look out over the barren landscape your throat begins to dry. You can feel the grit of sand in the teeth. Sweat glistens on the brow and cakes the dirt on your skin. Your belly growls. Why has Moses brought us out here in this godforsaken wilderness? Some leader you are. We had it better back in Egypt! Yahweh, send us something besides this god-awful manna. We’re sick of it! Manna for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Give us a break! It tastes like chewed up and spit out motzah. Yuuuck! So, God sends the complaining Israelites something else besides manna. Hssssssssss. Did you hear that? Sounds like….sssssnakes. Look ! Look! Hissing snakes sliding out from behind the rocks. They’re everywhere! The snakes begin to bite the people and they die. Their only legacy will be the dirt mounds they will leave behind in the wilderness. Moses falls on his knees and prays fervently for the people. And how odd of God, who says to Moses, “Holy Moses, I need you to get off your knees and go make a sculpture. I want you to make a poisonous snake out of bronze and wrap it around a pole, so that whenever someone is bitten by a serpent they can look upon the snake raised up on the pole and live.” There you are sitting in the wilderness gazing up at death nailed onto a pole, staring at a symbol of that which has brought death in your midst as a way of gaining healing and life. Strange indeed.

Well, maybe not that strange. There may be healing and life offered to us by gazing at our dark and deadly side, by holding up our own snakes on a pole. We all have a venomous side that can poison our soul if not brought into the light. Psychologist Carl Jung referred to it as “the Shadow.” The shadow side of our personality is formed when we repress, shove into the closet of our unconscious, a part of ourselves that does not live up to our or others expectations or ideal standards, such as moral codes. And though we may look away from our dark and deadly side, it may thrust itself in our faces until we claim it. Let’s say that in seeking to conform to the Christian ideal of being a peacemaker someone identifies with that ideal to such an extent that they suppress or deny their own anger and violence, their shadow side.

There are many who have grown up in pacifist traditions whose shadow side is an unacknowledged anger and violence hissing beneath a stony exterior. I have always thought of myself as a naturally peaceful person. As a child I didn’t like the thought of killing animals, while my friends hunted with bee-bee guns. I avoided fighting and rarely, if ever expressed anger toward another person. At 19, during the Vietnam War, I registered as a conscientious objector because I felt I could not take another human being’s life. I seemed to be naturally peaceful person. It was only after I entered the wildernesses of life that I began to see my darker side. After five years of preparing for the ministry I was forced to resign from my home church under poisoned circumstances. I spent the next three years doing sweaty, manual labor at tire stores unable to connect with another church position. I complained to a silent God. I held in the venom until I could taste it in the corner of my mouth. I still remember my frustration exploding in rage as I slammed my fist into a tire where I worked.

There were other wilderness experiences, like the long and winding road my wife and I traveled after we adopted two of our children, who had been raised in an abusive home. It was tough when they were young, but when they hit adolescence all hell broke loose! My anger, rage, violent thoughts and feelings boiled to the surface as I had to constantly deal with children who were unconsciously recreating chaos in our home, which was to them normal. I have had many such wilderness experiences that have forced me to gaze upon the venomous snake wrapped around my soul, consciously acknowledging I have an angry, violent side, even as I seek to be a peacemaker. Like the apostle Paul had to acknowledge; that which we despise, we do. Only in looking upon the snake wrapped around the pole of my soul have I found any salve of healing and life.

Only as we gaze upon the snake intertwined around our collective soul can we behold the possibility for healing and life. There is such a thing as a collective shadow. A social group can repress and suppress its own shadow in the light of its own professed ideals. Failure to look upon the snake coiled around our collective soul, as in the soul of a nation, leads to death and death-dealing. We are seeing the deadly effects of our nation’s failure to gaze upon its own shadow side in the light of our professed ideals. We are country that prides itself and announces to the world its democratic ideals, the land of the free….

At the same time, in the wilderness of our historic fears of communism and terrorism we have violently suppressed emerging democracies and created the U.S. Patriot Act to rob citizens of numerous liberties. We say to the world we are a peace loving people. We care for those in need. And yet, within a century we have engaged in hundreds of military interventions into other nations from Argentina to Zaire and we have poured billions upon billions of dollars into the war with Iraq and now the war in Afghanistan, while our economy teeters on the brink of the abyss and funds for the weak and vulnerable in our own society are strangely never available. We stand on top of a mountain of weapons of mass destruction and demand, demand that others stop developing the same. We once pointed a crooked finger at Saddam for using WMDs against the Kurds, while we forgot that we once supported Saddam and supplied him with these WMDs! We forget that we were the first and only nation to use the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and Nagazaki. Rather than acknowledging our shadow side, we deny it, suppress it, and project our violence onto others, while intoning the words, “God bless America.” Jesus was well aware of this deadly dynamic when he said, “For with the judgment you make you will be judged…Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye.” We fail to gaze upon the snake intertwined around our own collective soul and still....we are not healed.

Is there a balm in Gilead? Is there healing in the cross? And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man, the Child of Humanity, be lifted up. The cross our healing salve? A political instrument of humiliation, torture, and death become Christ’s exaltation and our salvation? How odd. How utterly strange and paradoxical. Jesus on the cross like a snake on a pole? There is a shadow side that curls its scaly skin around the cross. I am indebted to cultural and literary theorist Rene Girard for helping me to see what he calls the “scapegoat theory” and “sacred violence” not only coming to play in the cross, but as a dark dynamic within the human history.

Without getting into the complexities and problems with the theory, Girard illuminates the cross as an event which radically exposes the shadow side of humanity, uncover our violence hidden beneath religious rhetoric, myths, and rituals. The cross becomes a revelation, an unveiling of our poison in the innocent victim who was strung up on two pieces of wood. The cross exposes to the light our complicity in victimization. Or as the African-American spiritual moans, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” and the silent confession must come back: Yes, we were there. In the mob mentality and the cries for blood. We were there. In the blaming and in the projection of our own shadows onto others. In the scapegoating and the drawing of the sword. We were there. In feigned innocence and washed hands. In the denial and betrayal while standing comfortably by a warm fire, or a glowing TV set, forgetting, forgetting that we are disciples of Jesus. We were there in the drama of the cross. Gazing up at last at the venom of our violence…..and the hope of our healing.

There is a healing balm in the cross. And as odd as it may sound to some, there is a glorious side of the cross. That’s why John can speak of the lifting up of the cross as his exaltation. For it is in the event of the cross that our sins, our scapegoating, our complicity in violence were not only exposed, but forgiven. In the cross God transforms death into life, defeat into victory, humiliation into exaltation. In the cross the voice of God speaks through human vocal chords and says, “Forgive them for they know not what they do.” I’m not talking about easy forgiveness or cheap grace, but a change of heart that takes place when, through the splintery cross and the Christ who hangs upon it, we see who we really are and allow God to transform us into who we are supposed to be. An early Jewish targum or commentary on the story of Moses and the serpent on the pole says that it was not just the looking at the serpent that brought healing to the people, but their change of heart. Or should we say there was a “cure of the heart.” The deadly cross offers a healing balm. It is only a cure of the heart that will change the world, that will save the world. Poet Wallace Stevens speaks this truth in earthy images:

It is not enough to cover the rock with leaves.
We must be cured of it by a cure of the ground
Or a cure of ourselves, that is equal to a cure
Of the ground, a cure beyond forgetfulness.

O, to believe that this kind of healing were possible would be life indeed. Where could we look for such life? The kind of life that God has, the kind of life God offers. Eternal life. Life that does not perish or wither. Life that does not demean nor destroy. Life that offers forgiveness and restoration. Life in all its fullness and abundance. Life healed and whole and holy. Paradoxically, life risen from the tomb of death. Where can we find such life? Look. Look. Gaze upon the cross, the healing pole. For just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Child of Humanity be lifted up, so that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.

Walking on the Water

2011-08-07T14:12:00.000-07:00

*I preached this sermon this morning at Salem Mennonite Church, Salem, Oregon. It was recently published at Preaching.com: http://www.preaching.com/resources/preaching-online/11657155/

In the gospel story Jesus and Peter walked on the water. What is this bizarre story all about, anyhow? Modern enlightened readers may have some difficulty with the credibility of stories of people walking on the water. This couldn’t be true. Although incredible, stories of people walking on water are not all that rare. Not long ago I watched the illusionist Chris Angel on Mind Freak walk across a Las Vegas swimming pool. It just meant that he could place clear plexiglass under the surface and fool people into thinking he was like Jesus. More recently the British illusionist Dynamo walked across the River Thames. I even read that Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet, and some of his disciples could walk on water…. well, with hidden planks under the water.

There are stories about the Buddha walking on water. Even one of his disciples, Sariputta, walked on water, but his heart gave way and he began to sink beneath the troubled waters. But rousing his faith, he kept on going and reached the shore. Hmmm. Seems like I’ve heard a story similar to this one somewhere before! Then, the Buddha taught the people about casting off all shackles and crossing the river of worldliness and attaining deliverance from death. The Buddha told the people exactly what walking on the water meant. So, what does this story of Jesus and Peter walking on water mean?

Is the story of Jesus walking on the water about him having super powers? There aren’t two many people that I know who can walk on water, in spite of what Randy Travis says about his beloved grandpa in his song He walked on water. Is Matthew telling this story to prove that Jesus had super powers, like the super heroes in Marvel comics? Stan Lee, who created many of the Marvel comic super heroes, has a new show called Superhumans. Lee commissions Daniel Browning Smith, a contortionist, to travel the world to look for humans with superhuman abilities. He has interviewed and tested people like Rajmohan Nair from India who can receive 30 times the electricity in his body than the normal human or Darren Taylor, “Professor Splash,” who survived a 36 foot belly flop into 1 foot of water creating a world record!

Is Matthew just telling us that Jesus is “The Amazing Rabbi River Rambler” and deserves a spot on the next episode of Superhumans? In Matthew, surrounding the story of Jesus walking on water, he feeds 5000, then 4000 with a few loaves and fishes, heals the sick, a man with a withered hand, and two blind men. These are all miracle stories. They point to Jesus as someone with extraordinary, supernatural, superhuman abilities. Jesus is more than human. But, there seems to be more to this story of Jesus walking on the water than to point out that he is more than human, someone with super powers.

Maybe this story is about Jesus being the master of the wind and waves. More than someone with superpowers, Jesus is portrayed as the “Son of God” and “Master of the sea.” There is a story similar to the one of Jesus walking on the water earlier in Matthew’s gospel. Another storm arises on the sea of Galilee, a frequent occurrence, and the waves swamp the boat. Jesus is not walking on the water, but sleeping like a baby in the tossed boat. The disciples wake Jesus and cry out that they are perishing. Jesus comments about their little faith and rebukes the wind and the sea. They are amazed and wonder what kind of human can make the wind and sea obey him.

Both that story and this one about Jesus walking on the water have similar elements. First, in both stories a storm arises on the sea. Second, the disciple’s boat is tossed by the waves. Third, the disciples are afraid. Fourth, Jesus comments about his disciples’ lack of faith. Fifth, Jesus exhibits power over the sea by calming it or walking over it. And finally, the disciples comment about the extraordinary nature of Jesus, as more than a mere man or the Son of God.

These two stories both seem to point to Jesus as one who is master of the sea, Lord of the wind and waves. The sea was more than a place for the disciples to fish. It was believed to be a place of evil and chaos. And it takes a god to control or overpower it. This is the case in Babylonian and Canaanite mythology, as well as in the Bible, where the sea is like a monster that must be defeated. It is Yahweh who conquers Leviathan and the sea. The Psalmist proclaims:

But God has been my king from ancient times,
performing acts of deliverance on the earth.
You destroyed the sea by your strength;
you shattered the heads of the sea monster in the water.
You crushed the heads of Leviathan. (Psalm 74:12-14)

And in another Psalm we read:

O Lord, sovereign God!
Who is strong like you, O Lord?
Your faithfulness surrounds you.
You rule over the proud sea.
When its waves surge, you calm them.
You crushed Rahab and killed it;
with your strong arm you scattered your enemies.

Job reinforces this same belief about the chaos of the monster Rahab and the sea with Yahweh having power over them:

By his power he stills the sea;
by his wisdom he cut Rahab the great sea monster to pieces.
By his breath the skies became fair;
his hand pierced the fleeing serpent (Job 26:12-13)

So, it would appear from ancient beliefs about the evil and chaos of the sea and Jesus actions that these two gospel stories are pointing to Jesus as more than a mere human. Jesus is, like Yahweh, the Lord of the wind and waves, sovereign of the sea, master of evil and chaos.

But then again, could Matthew’s story of Jesus walking on the water also be about Peter’s lack of faith? This story is found in different forms in Matthew, Mark, and John. Unique to Matthew is the part about Peter asking Jesus to command him to walk toward him on the water. Matthew wants to say something particular by adding this part of the story.

This is one of those almost stereotypical depictions of Peter, the impetuous, impulsive disciple. Remember how Peter rebuked Jesus for saying he would be crucified, said he would never deny Jesus but does, blurted out something about building altars at the transfiguration, went overboard about washing his whole body at a foot washing, grabbed a sword at Jesus’ arrest and cut off a slave’s ear. So, asking Jesus to step out on the water is par for the course. Peter is just being Peter.

Well, here he is again not putting his foot in his mouth this time, but upon the surface of the sea. I wonder why he wants to step out on the churning waters. Does he think the water is shallow enough to wade over to greet Jesus? Is he just not thinking about the fact that humans don’t normally walk on water? Is this simply childish curiosity? If Jesus can do it, then why can’t I? Does Peter think he can become the master over the chaos, evil and storms of his own life?

Whatever the reason, Peter fearlessly puts his “little piggy” into the gurgling water. One uneasy step, then another. He is being held up by some power that transcends his normal life. The waves splash against his legs soaking his robe. Yet, he pays no mind to the wind and waves. His eyes are fixed upon Jesus.

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

But, then there’s this little problem. Peter notices the strong wind. Fear creeps in, chaos stirs up his soul, Leviathan digs a sharp claw in his flesh. And Peter begins to sink. The chaotic sea, the evil ocean, rides up to his ankles, then his calves, his knees, his thighs, his waist. Waves crash against his chest. He can taste the foam. Peter turns his eyes upon Jesus and cries out, “Lord, save me!” Have you ever cried out like that?

I wonder if this is just another demonstration of the dire consequences of Peter’s impulsive nature? Or does Peter really represent anyone who has had their faith tested or has taken their eyes off Jesus or who is sinking in the sea of sin and sadness and needs to be saved? I wonder.

You want to know what I think? I think this story is about Jesus, Lord of the wind and waves, who saves us through the storms and chaos of life. There’s a savior standing there on the waves.

I would like to take us back to the moment when Peter started to walk toward Jesus on the water and starts sinking down beneath the waves. I want to freeze frame that instant and create our own classic painting like so many I’ve seen depicting this gospel story.

Paint this picture on the canvas of your mind. An angry storm is raging on the Sea of Galilee. Dark clouds shroud the sea like a cape. Streaks of falling rain watercolor the gray sky. The waves rise like mountains and scoop out deep valleys. Strong winds blow the foam off the top of the waves. A small wooden boat filled with disciples careens on the rollercoaster sea. Jesus calmly walks across the surface of the sea, his robe and hair flowing in the wind. His strong arm reaches out to a shadowy figure sunk waist deep in the froth and foam. But, it’s not Peter. I would recognize Peter anywhere. So, who is this sinking soul? Could it be one of us?

I see in our painting someone who has struggled through this economic recession trying to keep their head above water. Dark shadows encircle their eyes. Maybe they lost their job or are barely making ends meet. They’re finding it hard to keep their faith in God or life or anyone as a sea of bills pour in.

In our painting someone’s boat has been rocking and they want to get out of it. They experienced a sinking feeling as the doctor came into the exam room and told them their health was not on solid ground. Waves of mortality crashed against the rocks of their soul.

In another corner of our painting a new follower of Jesus has stepped out of their boat of safety and security wanting to walk closer to Jesus. It looks like they got involved in a community service ministry and found themselves up to their neck in the problems of other people. How can I solve the troubles of these people, let alone my own? Feeling like they were going to drown they cried out for help.

Then an unseen hand reaches out and pulls us up out of a sea of troubles, a storm in our lives, a watery grave. And we’re saved. And we want to shout, “Thank you, Jesus!” Get the picture?

Christ has the power to reach out a hand to anyone afraid, venturing out of the boat, caught in the storms of life, sinking beneath the waves. Christ is master of the sea, Lord of the wind and waves!

I remember Eddie Mesa, a water-walker known as “the Elvis Presley of the Philippines.” He was a handsome singer, a star of the Philippine cinema, a lover of “wine, women and song.” To those around him it looked like he was walking on water, but his life was sinking. He ended up leaving his wife. Then, he came to the States in 1977 where one evening he just happened to stumble upon the Lost and Found Coffeehouse. Maybe he was trying to find himself. This was a Christian coffeehouse my wife Iris and I started to minister to street people in San Francisco.

At the Lost and Found Eddie met some Filipino friends of ours, the Laigo Brothers, who frequently played Christian music at our coffee house. They knew who Eddie was and talked to him in the dim light. My good friend Bobby, who died just this year, shared Christ with Eddie. After that evening in the city by the bay Eddie Mesa’s life was never the same. What was once lost was now found. A hand reached out to him down under the waves and once again I know that Jesus saves.

Upon his return to the Philippines he turned down a number of films he thought inconsistent with his newfound faith. Eddie started adding gospel music to his singing repertoire and ended up becoming an full time evangelist for Christ. Christ reached out to Eddie sinking in the sea. Christ, master of the wind and waves, has the power to save.

There in the city by the bay, among a band of his disciples, Christ reached out a hand to Eddie sinking beneath the wicked waves of fame and unfaithfulness. There amid a sea of people dipping and drowning, Christ reached out a hand to Eddie Mesa and lifted him up out of the chaos that consumed his life. Truly this is the Son of God.

What reminded me of the story of Eddie Mesa was a song we used to play in the flickering candlelight at the Lost and Found. It is a song by Christian Rock group Daniel Amos based on the story of Jesus walking on the water. In their song Walking on the Water the story of Peter becomes our story. Whatever chaos or storm you may have or are now facing in your life, turn your eyes upon Jesus, put yourself there in Peter’s sandals:

A storm at sea, and there sits me in a boat
And there's the Savior standing on the waves
The wind is tossing and turning the ship
But I decide to get out of it
And what do I see?
Could it be... I'm standing on the water?
Now, Jesus smiles and bids me come near
But I say, "Lord, there's a storm out there... I may fall"
He says, "Son, don't take your eyes off me
Look straight ahead and you'll arrive safely”
Then I saw me
Would you believe?... Walking on the water!

Now, things get rough and I look to the right
I'd seen Jesus so plainly, now I've lost sight
I start sinking down
And a hand reaches out to me down under the waves
Once again I know that Jesus saves
It's then I find
Oh, there am I... walking on the water

Walking on the water
What a pleasant surprise!
Walking on the water
Tryin' to keep my eyes on the One I'm confiding in
One I'm abiding in... walking on the water

A Surprise Ending

2011-08-04T08:50:00.000-07:00

*Note- This sermon was originally preached in a congregation in Texas in the 90s.

On the way to Jerusalem he was passing along between Samaria and Galilee. And as he entered a village, he was met by ten lepers,[a] who stood at a distance and lifted up their voices, saying, "Jesus, Master, have mercy on us." When he saw them he said to them, "Go and show yourselves to the priests." And as they went they were cleansed. Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice; and he fell on his face at Jesus’ feet, giving him thanks. Now he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus answered, "Were not ten cleansed? Where are the nine? Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" And he said to him, "Rise and go your way; your faith has made you well." Luke 17:11-17

Let me warn you before I begin preaching this sermon. The gospel has a way of sneaking up on us. The good news of Jesus can tiptoe up on us and smack us up side our nice, neat expectations. And Jesus seems to be at the center of all this subversive activity. He's always throwing us curve balls. He turns our world on top of its head. According to his backwards way of thinking, the last are first and the first last. The rich are cursed and the poor are blessed. Outsiders are inside and insiders are outside. Prostitutes, tax-collectors, outcasts are honored dinner guests at Jesus’ table. So-called sinners get into heaven before the so-called righteous. Samaritans are good. Enemies are loved. Children are our teachers. Then, Jesus goes around telling us these upside down parables, stories with hidden time bombs, that explode our reasonable worlds. To top it all off the plot of his life ain't very predictable either. The deliverer ends up needing to be delivered, the savior needing to be saved as he hangs there nailed to that old rugged cross. Then, when we come to what seems the end of the story, like father like son, God flips things upside down on their head and raises a dead man to life. That’s not the ending to the story we could ever expect. So, I’m warning you, don’t be surprised if the gospel sneaks up and surprises us, maybe even while I’m preaching.

Today's gospel story seems pretty predictable though. It would make a nice sermon on gratitude, thanksgiving. As the story goes, Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem. Entering a crackerbox village, ten lepers approach him. They keep their distance because they are "unclean." In a pitiful tone the ten cry out, "Lord Jesus, have mercy on us!" Jesus doesn't touch them. He doesn’t wave his hands and say "abracadabra, your healed." He doesn’t so much as give them a band aid. Jesus simply says, "Go and show yourselves to the priests"; these were the temple officials who could pronounce them "clean." On their way to the temple all ten are healed! Made whole! Freed from being called “dirty,” “filthy, “unclean.” Freed from being looked down upon. Freed from being considered second-class. Freed from being cut off from their community. All ten lepers were healed! Hallelujah! Thank you, Jesus! You would think all of them would have ran back to Jesus and cried out, “Thank you, Jesus!” But, only one returns, shouting his praise to God loud enough for everyone to hear. He don’t care what other people think. He gives no never mind. He flattens himself out on the ground and shouts, "Thank you, Jesus!"

Thank you, Jesus! That would make a nice title for my sermon. Maybe a better title than “A Surprise Ending.” I could use this gospel story to preach on giving thanks. That's been the topic of millions of sermons preached on this gospel story. But, hey, one more wouldn't hurt, right? Aren't we supposed to be thankful, like the one who thanked Jesus? Gratitude is a good thing. We could all use an attitude of gratitude. Gratitude is a virtue to be honored. I think we all could say “amen” to a sermon on being thankful. This sermon could be about giving thanks to God for our parents, our children, our home, our health, or our job. I could preach to you about singing praises to God for the simple things in life---rising to a new day, the morning sun on your face, the smell of fresh coffee, the song of a bird, the laughter of a child. There are so many gifts to give thanks to God for. We all like to give thanks to God, don't we? Amen? We could appreciate another sermon on thanksgiving.

Well, that depends. Maybe not if I moralized the gospel story and preached one of those "oughta sermons." You’ve heard preachers who preach “oughta” sermons, haven’t you? You oughta be thankful! You oughta go to church more and thank God more! You oughta be thankful you're not hungry and sick! You oughta be grateful you're of sound mind and body! On and on it goes, “You oughta…you oughta…” I remember just such a sermon on giving thanks based on this bible story of the ten lepers. The preacher told a long string of sad, pitiful stories of people dying from diseases, all the while trying to make us healthy people feel more thankful. Faces in the pews were drooping. Everyone looked like they had been weaned on sour pickles! Near the end of the sermon the preacher said we oughta be thankful for the shoes we wear, for some people in this world don't even have feet to put shoes on! After that sermon the people with droopy faces were truly feeling thankful. They were thankful that depressing sermon was over! Well, in my sermon I could tell you a bunch of sad stories and plead with you, "Come on people, you oughta be more thankful, like the one leper who returned to Jesus and gave thanks. Please, be more thankful." And if I preached that sermon, you too would be thankful....when the sermon was over!

Or if a guilt trip didn't work I could castigate you for not being as thankful as you should be. It's your moral duty to be thankful! God commands: Be thankful! It's right there in black and white in the Bible! God will judge those harshly who aren't thankful! Anyone who isn't truly thankful shouldn't even be in this church! For God's sake, how could you be so ungrateful!? That might make a good sermon for a community Thanksgiving service. You know the kind. Preaching professor Fred Craddock tells a story of when he had to attend one of those Thanksgiving services held in the community. A number of churches get together for a service and muster up about as many people as if only one church had the service. And inevitably the text for the evening is...ten lepers came to Jesus and were healed...only one returned to give thanks. Then, the preacher mounts the pulpit, looks out over the sparse audience and with furrowed brow cries out, "Where are the nine? Where are the nine? Where are the nine?" For an hour the preacher yells, "Where are the nine?" Craddock says at that point in the service he's thinking to himself, "There where I'd be if I had a lick of sense!" From today's gospel story I could preach a sermon on giving thanks, but I'll save that one for another day.

I believe most of us would rather hear a sermon on faith in Jesus as the source of our salvation. That seems to be the message of our gospel story. All ten lepers are healed. All ten. One returns to give thanks. To only one Jesus' says, "Your faith has saved you." But, weren't all ten healed? So, what's the difference between this one and the other nine? Ten were healed. One was saved. Granted, the word here can be translated as either "healed" or "saved." But, only one returns to Jesus. The nine go on their merry way. Only one returns to Jesus. Only one bows before Jesus. Only one recognizes Jesus as the source of his healing. Only one hears from the lips of Jesus the word of salvation. That's what makes his faith different from the nine. He alone sees something the others don't see. He alone understands, acknowledges, praises, and gives thanks to the source of his healing and salvation. He sees his cure as part of the deeper meaning of salvation brought to him by Jesus.

Now, that would make a powerful sermon. I could title it: Jesus, the Source of our Salvation. I believe I just might be able to get an "amen" from this congregation if I preached that gospel truth. I could even preach it with three points and a poem: First point: Come back to Jesus! Well? Second point: Thank God through Jesus! Amen? Third point: Bow down before Jesus, the source of our healing and salvation! Can I get a witness? People, that is the gospel truth! We are to come back to Jesus, even when others don't. We are to give thanks to God through Jesus, even when others don't. We are to bow before Jesus, who is the source of our healing and salvation and not only for us, but for all humanity, even for those who don't thank Jesus. We are the ones who proclaim that it is Jesus, the Balm of Gilead, who heals us. We are the ones who acknowledge that it is Jesus, Healer of our every ill, who makes us whole and restores us to our community. We are the ones who thank God that it is Jesus, Savior of sinners, who is the source of our salvation.

It is our faith in this Jesus which saves us. We are saved by grace through faith in Jesus Christ. That's the gospel truth. We are not saved because we're good or because we're better or holier than others. We’re not saved because we're more religious. Not because we're Mennonite or Baptist or Episcopalian or Church of God in Christ. Not because we have our name on a membership roll. Not because we give money to the church or teach a Sunday School class. We are saved by the grace of God in Christ, simply because we have come to Jesus in faith, the source of salvation. Our faith, our trust in Jesus alone, has saved us. One came to Jesus in faith and was not just healed, but saved. He didn’t have to get his life straight first. He came to Jesus and was saved. Are you that one? Do you believe this gospel truth? You are accepted by Jesus upon your faith and trust in him and not because of who you are or what you have done? If you are that one who came back to Jesus and was saved say, "Amen", say, “Thank you, Jesus.” That's what makes us Christian. That's what makes us part of the Christian community. The healing grace of God. Simple faith in Jesus. Nothing else. As Christians, we believe with all our hearts Jesus is the source of healing and salvation----for all people. Not just for some. Not just for you and me. But, for all people. I may have a sermon yet; that is, if I preach the gospel, the surprising good news.

But, like I warned you, if I do preach the gospel, it might just sneak up on us. It may topple the tables of our minds and hearts and all the coins of our expectations may go jingling across the floor. So, maybe I should just retell the gospel story, put it in the new suit of where we live……There were once ten patients in a hospital. All ten were suffering from the same dreaded disease. They had been isolated to one room and were not allowed to have contact with anyone inside or outside the hospital. The attending doctor and nurses wore rubber gloves when they worked on the patients. Some nurses assigned to that wing refused to work with the patients out of fear. If it weren't for the disease, these ten quarantined patients probably would never have associated with each other. One thing they had in common, besides their affliction, was that they all were churchgoers...well, to some degree. They often prayed together that God would be merciful and grant them healing or at least a remission of their disease.

One day when the doctor was making his rounds and giving them their daily check up, he noticed that the skin lesions on all ten patients had miraculously disappeared. He told them all to come with him to another room for further tests. All the tests indicated, for some unknown reason, their disease had gone into remission. So, the next day their doctor, still scratching his head, released them all from the hospital. They all packed up their belongings and headed their separate ways. Except one. He stopped by the hospital chapel, fell down hard on his knees before a stained glass window of Jesus, the Good Shepherd. With tears streaming down his cheeks and loud cries that could be heard all the way to the gift shop, this one poured out his heart to God. “Thank you, God! Thank you, Jesus!” He wept for joy believing in his heart that it was his faith in Christ that healed him…....from AIDS. Oh, I forgot to tell you....the man was gay.

Jesus pulls the rug out from under us with a surprise ending. The way Luke tells it, he waits until the very end of this gospel story to let his readers know that the one who returned to Jesus, gave thanks, and was not only healed, but saved, was.... a Samaritan. As a leper and Samaritan this man was an outcast among outcasts, doubly scorned, labeled "unclean" and "foreign born." As a leper he was excluded, cut off from acceptable society, labeled "dirty," considered a source of pollution to the community. It was only because of their common disease and being excluded from the larger community that brought these ten lepers together. So, when Jesus healed all ten, he was not simply curing their disease, but restoring them to their community. That is, all except for one. Jesus could not "cure" one of being a Samaritan. He was born that way. Considered a "half-breed." Part of a people who had to have their own separate churches and ministers; a people whose faith was suspect. Even after he was healed and saved, he would have to remain apart from those nine with whom he shared a disease that cut them all off from society. He was truly an outcast among outcasts. Leper. Samaritan. Those labels stand out in Luke's gospel story like a sore thumb.

Oh, we can change the names and labels----from Samaritan with leprosy to Gentile woman with chronic bleeding, old woman with mental illness, homeless man with…. It makes no difference. Since we have no Samaritans with leprosy to point to we have to translate "Samaritan with leprosy" into modern language, not just to make it updated, but so we might feel in our own bones the surprise ending of the gospel story. I could have translated “Samaritan with leprosy,” as "politician with sex addiction"! But, I didn’t. In Jesus’ day the Samaritan with leprosy represents the despised and rejected, the outcast and marginalized, the forgotten and forsaken in society. Those are the ones that where left out, pushed aside, despised, rejected, labeled, and called names. Those are the ones that Jesus most dearly loved. Those are the ones who Jesus offered hope, healing, wholeness, liberation, and salvation.

Now, don't hear me wrong. I'm not trying to make any moral statements from this story or preaching “You oughta do this or that.” I'm just preaching the gospel. And the gospel of Jesus Christ says: We are saved by the amazing grace through faith in Jesus Christ alone, the source of healing and salvation, a message of liberation for all people, no matter who we are or what we’ve done or haven’t done, or what people in the community may think of us or call us. The gospel has restored us to the beloved community of God.

As Christians, we believe Jesus is the sole source of our salvation. Nothing else. It is Jesus who heals us, save us, and restores us to community. It is Jesus who has thrown away all the labels that people want to hang on us. It is Jesus who has broken down all the walls that divide us. It is Jesus who has reconciled us as one people. It is Jesus who offers this same good news to all people, to all people. We have no one to thank for our healing, our salvation, our liberation, our restoration, but Jesus. Hallelujah! Praise be to God! Thank you, Jesus!

Will you return to Jesus and give thanks for this world-shaking, earth quaking, wall-breaking, bone-clattering, label-shattering, soul-surprising gospel? Or will we go on our separate ways? Separating ourselves from those we call “other,” “different,” “unclean,” “not-our-kind.” Or will we, for Jesus’ sake, welcome the Samaritan, whoever that may be for us. Welcome those who have been healed and saved along with us? One of the lepers who was healed, a Samaritan, returned, fell at Jesus' feet, and gave thanks. And Jesus said, "Your faith has saved you."

The Godwrestler

2011-07-25T17:06:00.001-07:00

Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak.
When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck
him in the hip socket; and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he
wrestled with him. Then he said, ''Let me go, for the day is breaking. "
But Jacob said, "1will not let you go unless you bless me. " So, he said
to him, "What is your name?" And he said, "Jacob:" 'Then the man
said, "You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have
striven with God and with humans and have prevailed."
Genesis 32:22-32

The ancient story of Jacob is rugged and powerful. It is not a simple, edifying story with an uplifting moral lesson. To read it is to see it's teeth gleam and it's sweating muscles bulge. The story is similar to other ancient stories of gods and demons who leap upon humans at night and engage them in combat near riverbanks. The thought of wrestling with a god is as frightening as the thought of Pee Wee Herman wrestling Hulk Hogan. If we are to wrestle a blessing from this story, it will only be after we have grappled with it for some time. And' we may come away from this story limping, wounded by the struggle. But, as the story goes, we may then be ready to receive our new name. Because in our wrestling with the text, and how it speaks to us, we may walk away having seen reflected in the mirror of this story, not only our own faces, but the face of God.

It is night. The darkness is filled with sounds that terrify. A solitary man fretfully waits by the gurgling Jabbok river. Alone. In the distance he can hear the muffled sounds of a caravan with camel bells jingling. His loving family, herds, and all he possesses have crossed over the river. They bear gifts to appease an angry adversary on the other side of the dark river. It's as if Jacob is at the point of no return. When the sun rises he must go across and face his brother Esau. Beads of sweat form on his furrowed brow and glistened on his beard. His insides are churning like the water hitting the nearby rocks. He dare not sleep. The silent air is thick with an ominous foreboding.

Then suddenly from out of the bowels of the darkness leaps a faceless and nameless stranger and throws Jacob to the ground. The cold flesh of the night stranger presses hard against Jacob. His foul breath is hot in Jacob's face. Their bodies intertwined like snakes in a deadly dance. Twisting. Turning. Grunting. Panting. Scissor holds. Half-Nelsons. Body slams. The wrestling seems endless.

What or who is he wrestling with in the dark of night? The god of the river? Esau? Himself? His own fears? His past? His destiny? Some inner demon? God? Maybe it's all of those things twisted together that Jacob wrestles into the night. Those of us who have experienced such inner struggles cannot easily distinguish what or who it is we are wrestling. Our battling relationships or our struggles with self-identity may be, at the same time, struggles with God. Jacob is probably no different. What is it that has Jacob in a headlock? With what or whom is he struggling beside the riverbank?

To better understand Jacob's struggle we might look back at Jacob's life and think of him as a professional wrestler, who has been sitting in the comer of a ring waiting to combat an opponent. The announcer comes to the center of the ring. His voice echoes through the PA system. Ladies and Gentlemen ...men...men. In this corner...comer...corner ...is Jacob ...Jacob ...Jacob. Then the announcer proceeds to describe the contestant. What we hear is not his weight or the color of his trunks, but the unfolding of his life up to this point. We see flashbacks of Jacob, son of Isaac, son of Abraham, whose life seems to have been a constant struggle.

The first flashback is a scene in a maternity ward. More correctly, a goat-skin tent. Inside, a sweaty woman, Rebekah, groans to give birth. Within her womb are twins wrestling to see who can make it out first. It's almost as if, prenatal, they knew that the firstborn child would eventually receive their father's special blessing. So, they struggle with each other, even in the womb. Suddenly there is a deep moan. Out from the womb comes a hairy, red headed baby, who they name Esau. Not to be outdone, the second child comes out, named Jacob, gripping onto his brother with a wrestler's grip.

The second flashback is a scene in a kitchen. The steam rises from a bubbling pot. The vapor of smell from lentil stew floats through the air and caresses the nose of Esau and pulls him forward almost floating, like a scene from a cartoon. Esau has come in tired, gritty, and famished from a long day of hard work in the fields. "Give me some of that red stuff, I'm starving", growls Esau. Jacob stands there with his apron on stirring the pot. "First," responds Jacob cunningly, "sell me your birthright." Beans for a birthright. Quite a bargain. Here is a cheater and conniver at work Jacob is being true to his name.

The third flashback is a scene of a bedroom. A man, named Isaac, lies in a bed inside a tent. The sun is going down over the red hills and the oil lamp inside the tent makes it glow. Isaac's eyes are tombs wrapped in wrinkles. A fly buzzes through the air and lands. He calls out to his firstborn, his favorite son Esau, to come into the tent to receive his due blessing. Not a mere formal blessing like, "God bless you". But a blessing which is a transfer of the power of the one who blesses to the one being blessed.

The doting mother of Jacob overhears the conversation with Esau, from outside the tent. While Esau is Isaac's favored son, Jacob is her's. She has spoiled this boy rotten. It doesn't take a family therapist to recognize that there is favoritism and rivalry within this family. The parents of these twins are having their own wrestling match. But we, who know about parental favoritism and playing one child over against the other, are aware of the results that such pitting of child against child can bring into the lives of children as they grow older. Children who have grown up in such dysfunctional families go limping through life with hidden wounds.

The mother has a few tricks up her sleeve. Her scheme is to have her son disguise himself as Esau and finagle his blind father out of the blessing. Later, rustling feet enter Isaac's tent bringing the smell of Esau. The hairy arm feels like Esau. But Isaac's blind eyes cannot see that it is the trickster Jacob who finally gets the father's blessing. The scene closes with a loud moan coming from the tent. We recognize the angry scream. It's Esau. Boiling over with hatred.

Other scenes from the past of our wrestler, quickly flash before our eyes. One is of the con man being conned. The scene is an informal wedding. It is taking place in the land where Jacob has fled from the red-hot anger of Esau. The canopy hangs over the lucky couple. But it doesn't look like luck Jacob has been conned into marrying Leah, the oldest daughter of Laban, in order to get the younger daughter, Rachel, as his wife. Not only that, but Laban got seven years of labor out of Jacob from the deal. The trickster has been tricked. Jacob will soon turn the tables and use his conniving skills to benefit himself But for now, he sweats under the wedding canopy. A veil hide the face of the women at the altar. But there is no veil to hide Laban's half-smile. He has duped Jacob.

Another scene flashes into the mind of the godwrestler. The scene is of bleating sheep being herded away by Jacob. His family and possessions make a cloud of dust as they leave the country of Laban. They did not part the best of friends. Laban pursues Jacob and his caravan of ill-gotten-gain. But a covenant at Mizpah keeps them from going at each others throats in the future. Jacob heads back home. Angels refresh his journey. He's going to need a few angels to travel with him. He is headed toward his red, hot brother, Esau.

In this corner ...corner ...corner ... is Jacob ...acob ...acob. The announcers voice brings us back to the riverside. Jacob comes to his senses. He has been a pampered pup. A momma's boy. A trickster, cheater, conniver. He is no worthy opponent. He run's away from his problems. Not this time. The bell has already rung and Jacob .has been in the ring wrestling with his faceless adversary all night long. Who, in this world or the next, is this shadow wrestler?

His adversary is stronger than any man. But the once-resigned and cowardly Jacob puts up quite a fight. From somewhere courage springs up within the defeated Jacob. And it's not just an-adrenaline rush. Blow for blow he doesn't give up or give in. Jacob is now literally wrestling for his life.

Relentless. They go at it until the sun begins to peak .over the mountain's crest. He's becoming quite a wrestler! And as the dawn begins to break, it appears that Jacob is now winning! He has the stranger in an vise-grip headlock. The faceless wrestler cries out to Jacob, "Let me go before the sun rises". Jacob's hunch that this was no ordinary man is confirmed. Maybe it's a trick. He tightens his grip.

Then the stranger simply touches the hollow of Jacob's thigh. Jacob is suddenly lying crippled, with a thigh muscle pulled. It's as if the stranger could have pinned his shoulders for a ten count at any time during the all-night fight. Still, Jacob holds on for dear life, even though his adversary could probably pin him with his little finger.

When the wrestling is over and done Jacob will realize that he did not wrestle an ordinary man. He will realize that when he looked into the face of the stranger, what he saw was in reality the face of God. It was as if God was the one who had been trying to wrestle something out of Jacob.

You know what I mean. It's like when God wrestles a new character or future out of your own Iife when you struggle through difficult relationships, decisions, or problem situations. You try to running away from the problem, what's ahead of you, a broken relationship, or your own inner conflicts and contradictions. But alone at night, it pounces upon you. And you have to wrestle with it. What am I supposed to do? Which way am I supposed to go? Why do I always seem to act this way? Why am I having to go through this? Where is God in my life? What is God doing with me? You wrestle with a faceless opponent. Or maybe your opponent has many faces. You can't tell whether it's the face of that friend you have been at odds with, the darker side of your own self, or the hidden face of God. And your adversary is stronger than you. But hopefully you can hang in there through the fight. Those who hold their grip through such spiritual struggles until they wrestle some meaning from them are wrestlers on par with Jacob. They come out of such struggles different persons.

"I will not let you go until you bless me," groans Jacob. Jacob has recognized that his opponent is more than a mere human. "What is your name?" grunts the stranger. "Jacob", he responds. He admits who he is. His name is his character. Jacob confesses. I am a trickster, a cheat, a conniver. Only by confessing his name, who he really is, can he become who he is supposed to be. Only as we admit that we have been cheaters, liars, manipulators, cowards, and complainers will we become who we are supposed to be. First, we have to own up to our name, who we, in all honesty, really are. For if we don't our shadow self may just leap out at us some night while we are all alone and wrestle us to the ground.

Because Jacob overcomes through the struggle, he receives a new name. No longer will his name or his character be Jacob, the trickster. His name, and his character, will be Israel, Godwrestler. The transformation of his character is the blessing which he sought. Jacob has wrestled with himself, with his past, with his future, with his relationships, and with God. That old life of conniving and running that haunted him in his dreams leaves with the rising of the sun.

The new day will even see Jacob's fears of Esau blow away like a puff of smoke. Jacob and Esau on the other side of the river and end up in a bear hug. Not in a wrestling match, but with Esau embracing Jacob and showering him with tears, kisses, forgiveness, and blessings. Was this the one he thought to be the faceless adversary the last evening? No. And yes. It was Esau that Jacob wrestled. It was himself that he wrestled. But more than himself and Esau. For as Jacob looked into Esau's forgiving face Jacob said that it was like looking directly into the face of God.

Jacob limps away from the ring with one arm around Esau. He has fought the good fight. He has kept the faith. And he carries with him a battle wound. It is the mark that anyone who has encountered God as deeply as Jacob carries in themselves. It is the painful memory of struggles with ourselves and our relationships. Or the scars from our battles with God. When we make it through such personal and spiritual struggles or come through such dramatic turning points in life, we walk away wounded, limping. As Jesus limped out of the tomb on Easter, bearing in his body the scars of his great struggle and victory. And we can never go back to being that person we used to be. We have a new name, a new character, a new destiny. God, our beloved adversary, has wrestled it out of us. And our wound is a reminder to us of
how weak is our strength in the face of God's awesome power.

We know the place where Jacob wrestled. We repeat his story, again and again. Somewhere wrestlers are grappling in the dark. Someone is struggling with a shadowy figure. A defeat .is turned into a victory by God's hand. A new name is given. And a lone figure limps away as the sun dawns on a new day.

Common: rapper Lonnie Rashid Lynn Jr.

2011-07-12T15:59:00.000-07:00

finished an ink drawing of socially conscious rapper Common for my series M.U.S.I.C.: Musicians Undermining Social Injustice Creatively. To see others in the series go to: http://leosart.wordpress.com

More church bulletin art

2011-07-07T14:49:00.000-07:00

Frederic Remington: Illustrator of the Old West

2011-06-21T16:59:00.000-07:00

Frederic Remington went to art school at Yale University but was more interested in football and boxing than art. A trip to Montana at 19 inspired him with images of the Old West. Remington became noticed as an illustrator after he worked for Harper's Weekly starting in 1886. Along with Charles Russell, Remington is recognized as an artist of the Old West.

Praying Hands 13

2011-06-09T22:59:00.000-07:00

Howard Pyle: American Illustrator

2011-06-07T08:04:00.000-07:00

Howard Pyle is known as the "father of American illustration." He mostly illustrated children's books with pirates being one of his primary subjects. Pyle was educated at the Drexel Institute of Art, Science and Industry and went on to found his own art school; Howard Pyle School of Illustration. He taught summer courses at Chadds Ford, PA. One of his students was N.C. Wyeth, who is another key figure in American illustration, among many other students who became well known illustrators.

N.C. Wyeth: American Artist and Illustrator

2011-06-02T08:21:00.000-07:00

Newell Convers Wyeth was an outstanding pupil of the renowned illustrator Howard Pyle and became one of the best American illustrators. Pyle taught him his own detailed realism with an atmosphere of romanticism, while Wyeth developed a looser style. Wyeth was taught to be historically accururate in his illustrations. His first commissioned work was for the Saturday Evening Post at the age of 21!

Wyeth settled in Chadd's Ford, PA near the historic Brandywine battlefield. I used to pass by this area frequently on my way to the Philadelphia airport from Lancaster and have visited the Brandywine River Museum which exhibits the works of the Wyeth family. I knew the work of N.C.'s son, Andrew Wyeth, from college art history classes before I knew about his father and the work of his grandson, Jamie.

Praying Hands 12

2011-05-31T15:52:00.000-07:00

Just finished this 12th scratchboard in my series of praying hands.

Maxfield Parrish: Early 20th Century Illustrator

2011-05-31T14:58:00.000-07:00

In keeping with the last two blogs, I thought I would continue to spotlight American illustrators. Maxfield Parrish was a popular illustrator and painter from the early part of the 20th century. His most famous painting Daybreak(first photo) is still popular to this day. He was born Frederick Parrish in Philadelphia in 1870. His father, Stephen, was also a painter and a primary influence. In 1900 Parrish contracted tuberculosis and then suffered a nervous breakdown. Around then he switched to oil painting started creating the luminous almost magical landscapes that made him popular.

Parrish attended Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts. Most of his paintings emerged from his home studio in New Hampshire. He was also an illustrator of books, magazine covers, advertisements, and painted murals.

Parrish's neo-classicist paintings have an ethereal, glowing, magical atmosphere of dawn or twilight, most well known are his idealistic images of women on the rocks.

Norman Rockwell: Enlightened Illustrator of Americana

2011-05-29T11:04:00.000-07:00

Norman Rockwell is one is the most known and beloved of American illustrators. I thought I should add him to my blog since I just added J.C. Leyendecker, an American illustrator Rockwell admired and emulated. Unlike Leyendecker, I have known about Rockwell for much longer, having appreciated his art in high school and college. I bought a huge book of Rockwell when I was 21 in the Army. Although I didn't care much for his almost kitschy, Boy Scout, idealized images of Americana, I was fascinated by his photorealistic painting techniques.

My appreciation for his artwork increased with his images for Look magazine of the Southern Freedom movement in the 60s, which broke him away from his idealized white, middle class imagery of America. Most people would not recognize the dark sepia study for the painting "Murder in Mississippi" as a Rockwell. The painting reveals a side of America that Rockwell kept well hid in his earlier paintings, even though he was more of a political liberal. His third wife Molly Punderson,a strident liberal, encouraged him to move in new directions. We recognize the Rockwell style in his painting The Problem We All Live With, but the subject, the young girl Ruby Bridges integrating a New Orleans school in 1960, was not typical Rockwell scenery. These paintings represent to me a kind of artistic conversion from an idealized white America.

J. C. Leyendecker: Early 20th century Illustrator

2011-05-29T08:54:00.000-07:00

I recently bought a book of an artist who is not a well known name, not even to myself----J.C. Leyendecker. He was one of the top illustrators in the U.S. in the early 20th century. He was known for his illustrations for the Arrow Collar Man and the covers for the Saturday Evening Post (over 300), before Norman Rockwell. Norman Rockwell was a friend of Leyendecker and was a pallbearer at his funeral. Rockwell's early work reflects the artist's influence, along with his Americana images.

Charles Breach, Leyendecker's gay partner, was the original model for the Arrow Collar Man. There is a noticeable homerotic aesthetic in his artwork. His brother Frank was a great illustrator as well, but his work was overshadowed by J.C.

Leyendecker's work is recognizable for its stylized rendition of the idealized human form with angular geometric brush strokes. He helped popularize the images of Santa Claus and the New Year's baby and his style has influenced many modern illustrators.

Roy Gonzalez Tabora: Hawaiian Seascape Painter

2011-05-28T10:36:00.000-07:00

I appreciate realism in paintings and love seascapes, having grown up next to the Pacific Ocean. So, naturally I would love Roy Tabora's seascapes. He started young as an artist apprenticed by his uncle, Rick Gonzalez. By 20 he was an accomplished artist but decided to go finish his degree in fine arts from the University of Hawaii.

Tabora's seascapes are an "idealized realism." Each painting captures a moment of surf, sun, moon, reflection, and color that reflect the real beauty of Hawaii, but are purely in the imagination. He painstaking attention to detail make his painting not just photographic, but crisp images of imagined memories. Enjoy the beauty of creation and imagination!

More Church Bulletin Art

2011-05-27T08:35:00.001-07:00

Zdzislaw Beksinski: Surrealistic Gothic Painter

2011-05-19T09:42:00.000-07:00

I just got a copy of of the Fantastic Art of Beksinski, though I have appreciated his surreal art for a long time. Zdzislaw Beksinski was a Polish painter, photographer and sculptor whose style can be described as Gothic, surreal, and fantastic realism. His paintings are haunted by meticulous renderings of boney structures and human bodies, moody colors, juxtaposition of dark and light, surreal landscapes, and religious symbolism. Even though Beksinski aschews interpretation of his artwork, one cannot help but conjure up themes of post-apocalypticism, decay and mortality, suffering humanity, and the stuff of nightmares. The artist painted to the sounds of classical music. He was murdered in 2005 by a "fiend" of his son for not loaning him $100!

Steampunk: Victorian Futurism

2011-05-17T09:05:00.000-07:00

I appreciated the style before I knew it had a name. I enjoyed this retro-futuristic aesthetic in films like the Golden Compass, League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Hellboy 1 & 2, and Van Helsing. The name for this style is Steampunk. Steampunk is a derivitive of cyberpunk culture, a style emerging from punk and the information age of cyberspace. Steampunk is Victorian futurism, in other words, imagining the future through Victorian (steampowered) era and film noir eyes. The style emerged in the 80s and 90s and can be seen in literature, fashion, decor, art, gadgets, and music. A similar genre/style is dieselpunk, which focuses on the period between World War I and II, exemplified in movies like Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, and Dark City. At least now I have a name for this style I have enjoyed in art and film.